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THE  CHILDREN. AT  RR^ER  BANK. 


BY 


JAMES  W.  ALEXANDER,  D.D. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

AMERICAN   SUNDAY-SCHOOL   UNION, 
1122  Chestnut  Stkeet. 


Entered  according  lo  Act  of  Congress,  in  tlie  year  l'S34tby 
Pavl  Beck,  Jr.,  Treasurer,  in  irusi  for  llie  American  Sunaav 
chool  Union,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  thf 
Eistern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


CHARLES  CLIFFORD. 


CHAPTER  I. 


RivERBANK  is  the  name  of  an  es« 
tate  upon  the  Delaware,  not  many 
miles  from  Philadelphia.  There  is 
a  high  bank  rising  many  feet  above 
the  stream,  but  level  at  the  top,  and 
covered  with  green  fields  and  woods. 
This  bank  has  in  the  midst  of  it  a 
larfTe  and  eleo^ant  house,  with  a 
smooth  lawn  on  each  side.  Not  far 
from  the  house  is  a  grove  of  old  oaks, 
and  when  you  drive  up  from  the 
road  through  the  lawn,  there  is  a 
1*  5 


6  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

double  row  of  elms.  This  makes  a 
shaded  walk  on  both  sides  of  the 
carriage  road,  and  the  high  elms  join 
their  branches  at  the  top,  so  as  to 
make  it  seem  like  an  arch. 

Riverbank  was  so  called  by  its 
owner,  because  it  was  situated  upon 
the  very  bank  of  the  river  Dela- 
ware. The  gardens  reach  almost  to 
the  water's  edge,  and  there  are  steps 
by  which  you  may  go  down.  At  the 
bottom  of  these  steps  there  are  two 
small  houses,  which  are  touched  by 
the  water.  One  of  these  is  for  bath- 
incj,  and  the  other  is  a  boat  house 
From  the  high  ground  above  you 
can  see  many  miles  up  and  down  the 
river ;  and  in  the  fine  summer  even- 
ino^s  it  is  charming^  to  sit  under  the 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  7 

noble  elm-trees,  and  look  at  the 
farms,  and  woods,  and  hills  along 
the  river. 

Riverbank  was  for  many  years 
owned  by  a  gentleman  named  Cap- 
tain Clifford.  He  was  rich,  and  had 
chosen  this  pleasant  spot  to  have  a 
quiet  place  where  he  might  bring  up 
his  little  family.  The  house  was 
well  furnished  with  every  thing  that 
was  necessary  to  comfort.  Besides 
the  fine  parlours  and  chambers,  there 
was  a  large  room  in  the  centre  of  the 
house,  w^hich  was  called  the  lihrary. 
There  were  shelves  around  the  walls, 
which  were  filled  with  the  most  ele- 
gant books.  In  the  middle  of  the 
X'joxn.  were  tables,  on  which  lay  the 
\i\\q<d  books  of  maps  and   pictures, 


8  CHARLES    CLIFFORF. 

which  it  was  not  proper  to  put  on 
the  shelves. 

At  one  end  or  the  library  there 
was  a  door  opening  into  a  smaller 
room,  which  was  called  the  captain's 
study.  Here  he  read  and  wrote  al- 
most every  morning.  And  here  he 
used  to  have  his  little  children, 
when  he  wished  to  teach  them. 

Mrs.  Cliiford  was  a  pious  and  sen 
sible  woman.  She  was  kind  to  all 
the  family,  and  benevolent  towards 
the  poor.  Her  greatest  pleasure 
was  in  teaching  her  little  children, 
Charles  and  Mary.  But  Mrs.  Clif- 
ford was  much  alflicted.  All  her 
husband's  riches,  and  all  their  fine 
houses  and  grounds,  could  not  keep 
away  distress      She  was  feeble  and 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  9 

Sickly,  and  there  was  hardly  any  day 
m  which  she  did  not  suffer  much 
pain. 

But  she  knew  that  not  a  hair  ol 
her  head  could  fall  without  the  per 
mission  of  God.  She  was,  therefore, 
cheerful  and  happy  in  the  midst  of 
all  her  trials.  Indeed,  her  pious 
friends  used  to  say,  that  the  more 
her  strength  failed,  the  more  her 
joys  seemed  to  increase.  And  it  is 
certain  that  she  was  so  far  from  mur- 
murinor  at  what  the  Lord  chose  to 
lay  upon  her,  that  she  often  used  to 
say  that  she  thanked  God  for  her 
afflictions. 

When  little  Charles  Clifford  saw 
his  dear  mother  so  pale  and  weak,  it 
used  to  m'ike  him  very  sorry.     The 


10  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

affectionate  little  boy  did  not  kno\^ 
tnat  his  mother  was  oroinsr  into  a  con 
sumption ;  but  he  plainly  perceived 
that  something  was  the  matter.  Lit- 
tle boys  often  take  notice  of  more 
than  those  who  are  around  them  sup- 
pose. Charles  could  see  that  hi? 
mother  never  walked  out,  and  that 
she  could  scarcely  get  into  the  car- 
riage witiiout  being  helped.  And 
then  she  lay  upon  the  bed  almost  all 
day,  and  was  often  taking  medicines, 
and  had  a  cough  which  seemed  to 
give  her  great  pain. 

On  a  tine  spring  morning,  Mrs. 
Clifford  was  sitting  by  a  window, 
where  she  could  look  out  and  see  the 
boats  upon  the  river.  She  had  her 
Bible  lying  by  her,  in  w^hich  she  had 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  11 

been  reading.  While  she  sat  there, 
Charles  came  running  in  with  a 
nosegay  of  flowers,  and  said,  '^  Dear 
mother,  see  what  a  beautiful  bunch 
of  flowers  I  have  got  out  of  the 
green-house.  Will  you  not  come 
and  walk  in  the  garden  ?  O,  do, 
mother ;  the  pinks  are  all  coming  up 
in  the  border,  and  every  thing  is  so 
beautiful." 

''  My  dear  little  boy,"  said  Mrs. 
Clifford,  "  I  am  unable  to  walk  out 
with  you ;  I  am  too  weak." 

Charles.  But,  mother,  what  makes 
you  so  weak  ?  Are  you  unwell  ? 

Mrs.  Clifford.  Yes,  Charles,  I  am 
rery  unwell.  I  do  not  think  I  shah 
ever  walk  out  any  more. 

Charles.     0,  y  3s,  mother,  I  hope 


12  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

you  will  walk  out  a  great  many 
times.  And  when  the  new  summer 
house  is  finished,  we  will  all  go  and 
drink  tea  there ;  and  Mary  says  that 
her  doll  is  to  have  a  new  frock,  and 
to  sit  at  the  table. 

Mrs.  C.  My  son,  do  you  try  to 
remember  all  the  orood  thino^s  I  have 
been  teaching  you  ? 

Charles.  Yes,  mother,  and  I  say 
the  little  prayers  you  taught  me, 
and  read  in  my  little  Bible  every 
day. 

Mrs.  C.  I  hope  you  will  always 
remember  to  do  so,  and  never  forget 
what  your  mother  has  taught  you. 
I  wish  you  and  Mary  to  love  God 
above  all  things.  Every  day,  since 
you  were  born,  I  have  prayed  that 


CHAHLES    CLIFFORD.  13 

the  Lord  would  bless  you,  and 
make  }"ou  good  children. 

Charles.  I  wish  to  be  a  good  boy, 
and  to  be  like  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 

Mrs.  C.  But  if  I  should  go  away, 
and  yon  should  not  see  me  for  a 
great  while,  do  you  think  you  would 
remember  the  orood  thino^s  I  have 
taught  you  ? 

When  Mrs.  Clifford  said  this,  the 
tears  began  to  come  into  her  eyes ; 
and  little  Charles  drew  very  near  to 
her,  and  looked  very  sorrowful.  He 
then  looked  up  into  his  mother's 
face,  and  said, 

"  Dear  mother,  you  are  not  going 
away  to  leave  me, — are  you?" 

M?'s.  C.  I  cannot  be  always  wdtli 

you,  my  dear ;  and  when  lam  gone, 

2 


14  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

von  must  remember  how  much  T 
have  desired  that  you  should  be  the 
Lord's  child. 

Charles.  Yes,  I  will,  indeed ;  but 
where  are  you  going,  mother? 

Mrs.  C.  You  know,  Charles,  that 
we  cannot  live  in  this  world  for- 
ever. Some  of  these  days  we  must 
all  die,  and  go  to  another  world. 
Do  you  know  what  death  is? 

Charles.  O,  yes !  I  saw  the 
gardener's  son,  when  he  was  dead. 
He  was  almost  as  white  as  snow, 
and  when  I  put  my  hand  upon  his 
%ce,  I  was  afraid,  because  it  was  as 
cold  as  marble. 

Mrs.  C.  We  must  all  die.  My 
little  son  must  dio ;  your  father 
must   die,  and  /  must  die.     But  if 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  15 

we  believe  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Ciirist, 
we  shall  all  meet  ao^ain  in  heaven. 

Charles.  Yes,  aunt  Esther  says 
that  there  will  be  no  sorrow  or  dis- 
tress in  heaven  forever  and  ever. 

Mrs.  C.  Before  a  great  whilej 
every  one  of  us  will  be  dead.  Dur 
bodies  will  be  laid  nnder  the  ground  ; 
but  if  we  are  the  Lord's  children, 
our  souls  will  be  in  heaven. 

Charles.  Mother,  1  do  not  like  to 
hear  you  talk  so.  I  do  not  like  to 
think  that  you  and  my  dear  father 
are  to  die. 

M7's.  C.  I  do  not  wish  to  distress 
my  little  son,  but  you  ought  some- 
times to  think  of  these  things.  The 
time  will  come  when  we  must  part 
from  one  another  for  a  little  while. 


6  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

And  I  think  it  is  likely  that  I  shaL 
go  away  first. 

When  Charles  heard  this,  he 
threw  his  arms  around  his  mother's 
neck,  and  wept  as  if  his  little  heart 
would  break.  And  his  mother  wept 
too,  so  that  it  was  some  time  before 
she  could  say  any  thing.  At  last 
Charles  said, 

^'0,  my  dear  mother,  now  I 
knovv  w^hat  you  mean  by  going 
away.  You  mean  that  you  are 
going  away  to  heaven.  O,  what 
shall  I  do!  what  shall  I  do !  I 
will  go  and  pray  to  the  Lord  to 
make  you  well.  We  cannot  do 
without  you.  It  would  kill  me,  1 
am  sure,  if  you  were  to  die." 

Mrs  C.  'V\  ell,  my  child,  we  will 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  L7 

not  talk  any  more  of  this.  Only  I 
hope  you  will  neA^er  forget  that 
your  dear  mother  wished  an(^ 
prayed,  above  all  things,  that  her 
little  son  and  dauo^hter  mio^ht  be 
pious  children.  I  am  sure  that  the 
Lord,  who  takes  care  of  these 
beautiful  flowers,  will  take  care  of 
my  little  children.  Now  wipe  your 
eyes,  and  let  me  kiss  you,  and  then 
you  may  go  out  to  your  sister,  for  1 
hear  her  calling  you. 

Charles  kissed  his  mother,  and 
then  wallced  very  soberly  away  to 
meet  his  sister  under  the  elms.  But 
he  was  so  sorrowful  that  he  could 
not  play.  Little  rosy-cheeked  Mary 
ran  and  skipped  about  the  gravel- 
waJk,  like  a  lamb  or  a  kid,  she  was 
2^ 


IS  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

SO  full  of  spirits.  She  wondered 
what  was  the  matter  witk  Charles, 
and  after  she  had  found  that  he 
would  not  play,  she  ran  away  from 
him.  Charles  walked  about  very 
sorrowfully  under  -the  shade  of  the 
trees.  He  did  not  know  very  well 
what  death  was,  and  did  not  sup- 
pose that  his  mother  was  in  so  great 
danger.  But  he  knew  that  it  would 
be  very  dreadful  for  him  to  lose  her, 
and  he  felt  as  if  his  affectionate 
heart  would  break. 

Mrs.  Clifford  had  spent  much  of 
her  time  in  teaching  her  little  boy 
and  girl  And  the  more  hei 
strength  failed,  the  more  earnest 
she  was  that  they  shonld  be  in 
s\x\x(  ted   in    religion,    and    be    con 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  19 

verted  to  God.  Every  morning 
and  dQiiks^'g  she  used  to  take  tliem 
into  Ler  closet  and  kneel  down. 
and  pray  to  the  Lord  for  them. 

As  Charles  walked  alone  under 
the  elms,  he  thought  of  this.  He 
remembered  how  often  his  dear 
mother  had  told  him  that  he  must 
pray  to  God  whenever  he  was  in 
trouble.  The  poor  little  fellow  was 
in  trouble  now ;  so  he  thought  the 
best  thing  he  could  do  would  be  to 
go  by  himself  and  pray.  He  went 
up-stairs  into  a  room  which  was  not 
occupied,  and  there  he  knelt  dow^n 
and  prayed  that  God  would  bless 
his  dear  mother. 

Now,  it  happened  that  Charles's 
aunt  was  sewing  in  a  little  apart- 


'20  CHARLES    CLIFFORD 

ment  near  to  this  room,  wnere  she 
could  hear  what  he  said.  This  aunt 
was  Miss  Esther  Clifford,  an  elder 
sister  of  Captain  Clifford,  who  lived 
at  Riverbank.  Ever  since  Charles 
had  been  deprived  of  the  particular 
attentions  of  his  mother,  he  had  been 
under  the  care  of  his  aunt  Esther. 
And  he  could  not  have  had  a  better 
guardian,  for  she  was  sensible,  and 
pious,  and  very  kind.  When  Miss 
Esther  heard  the  child  praying  for 
his  mother,  it  affected  her  very 
much.  She  went,  therefore,  into 
her  brother's  study, 'where  he  was 
writmo;,  and  told  him  of  what  she 
had  heard. 

The  captain  laid  dov/n  his  pen, 
and   said,   "I    did    not    know   that 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  21 

Charles  supposed  his  mother  to  be 
so  ill.  Yet  I  am  glad  that  it  is  so 
The  little  boy  will  thus  be  better 
prepared  for  the  dreadful  stroke 
v/hich  I  am  afraid  is  coming  upon 
us." 

"  O,  brother,'*  said  Miss  Esther, 
**  what  a  blessed  thing  it  is  to  have 
the  consolations  of  religion  at  such  a 
time.  My  dear  sister  grows  weaker 
and  weaker  every  day.  To  tell  you 
the  truth,  I  should  not  be  surprised 
if  she  should  expire  some  day  in  her 
chair.  She  tries  to  appear  bettei 
than  she  is,  for  fear  of  distressing 
you.  But  in  the  midst  of  all,  she  is 
so  sweet  in  her  temper,  and  so  full 
of  Christian  joy,  that  one  cannot  pity 
tier.    She  is  happier  than  any  of  us  " 


22  CHARLES    CLIFFORi:. 

Captain  Clifford  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands,  but  his  sister  could 
see  the  tears  trickling  down  his 
cheeks.  So  she  took  his  hand  in  a 
kind  manner,  and  said,  "  Brother, 
you  know  where  to  go  for  comfort 
and  support.  The  Lord  orders  all 
these  trials  for  your  good,  and  I 
hope  you  are  able  to  trust  in  his 
promise." 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  ''I  am!  I  am  ! — 
I  am  thankful  that  it  is  so.  The 
trial  is  hard  to  bear,  but  my  trust  is 
in  the  name  of  the  Lord.  He  will 
support  me.  and  take  care  of  these 
motherless  children.  Now,  my  dear, 
go  and  see  if  you  can  persuade  your 
sister  to  lie  down»  and  take  some- 
thino^  reviving." 


CHARLES   CLIFFORD.  28 

Tpc?  Captain  then  opened  his  Bi 
ble,  diA  bei^an  to  read.  And  the 
young  reader  of  this  story  will  find, 
that  if  he  is  ever  in  deep  affliction, 
the  Holy  Scriptures  will  give  more 
real  con  fort  than  all  other  books  put 
tost  ether 


24  CHARLES    CLIFFORD 


CHAPTER  II. 

Several  weeks  passed  away,  and 
Mrs.  Clifford  became  every  day 
more  weak.  At  last  she  was  en- 
tirely confined  to  her  bed.  And  as 
she  could  not  speak  without  pain, 
the  little  children  were  not  allowea 
to  go  very  often  into  her  chamber. 
This  made  Charles  grieve  very 
much,  for  he  r  ow  began  to  think 
that  his  mother  would  indeed  be 
taken  away  from  him ;  and  even  lit- 
tle Mary  saw  that  something  more 
than  common  was  the  matter. 

Charles  slept  in  a  room  up-stairs, 
m  a  small  bed  near  his  father's.   One 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  25 

morning,  long  before  it  was  daylight, 
he  was  awakened  by  his  aunt,  who 
seemed  to  be  weepir.g.  As  soon  as 
he  could  get  his  clothes  on,  Miss 
Esther  took  him  into  his  mo- 
ther's chamber.  There  was  a  lamp 
burning  in  the  entry,  but  the  room 
was  almost  dark.  Charles  saw  his 
father  leaning  over  the  side  of  the 
Ded,  wdiere  Mrs.  Moore,  the  nurse, 
was  holding  his  mother  in  her  arms. 
Charles  was  shocked  when  he  saw 
how  ghastly  his  dear  mother  looked, 
and  heard  how  hardly  she  breathed. 
Mrs.  Clifford  was  dying.  She 
could  scarcely  speak ;  but  when  she 
saw  her  son  coming  towards  the  bed, 
she   stretched    out    her    pale,   thin 

hands,  and  seemed  to  smile.  Charles 
3 


26  CFA.RLES    CLIFFORD. 

came  near  his  motlier,  and  heard 
her  say,  ^^  My  son — my  son,  love  and 
serve  God — remem  )er  your  dying  mo- 
ther's rvords — love  and  serve  GodT 
She  could  say  no  more,  but  sank 
back  into  the  nurse's  arms.  Then  she 
made  a  sign  that  she  wished  her  son 
to  come  to  the  bed,  and  after  Charles 
had  kissed  her  cold  lips,  she  seemed 
to  fall  into  a  kind  of  sleep.  Her 
breath  became  shorter  and  shorter, 
and  at  last  she  lay  quite  still,  with  her 
eyes  fixed  as  if  they  had  been  glass 
Captain  Clifford  then  motioned  to 
his  sister  to  take  the  little  boy  away. 
When  she  had  taken  him  down- 
stairs, he  found  Mr.  Lee,  the  minis- 
ter, sitting  by  the  parlour  fire.  After 
Miss  Esther  hai  said  a  few  words  to 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD  27 

Mr.  Lee,  this  gentleman  took  Charles 
on  his  knee,  and,  putting  his  arm 
kindly  around  him,  said, 

"  Charles,  do  you  know  that  youi 
dear  mother  has  gone  to  heaven  ?" 

Charles  said  nothing,  but  hid  his 
face  in  Mr,  Lee's  bosom,  and  burst 
into  tears.  He  sobbed  and  sio-hed 
so  much,  that  it  was  lonor  before  he 
could  attend  to  what  the  minister 
said.  After  a  little  while,  Mr.  Lee 
spoke  to  him  thus  : 

''  Yes,  my  little  boy,  your  dear 
mother  is  now,  I  am  sure,  enjoying 
perfect  happiness  in  the  presence  of 
God.  I  was  sent  for  to  see  her  in 
the  middle  of  the  night,  and  I  talked 
and  prayed  with  her.  She  said  she 
was  not  afraid  to  die,  because  she 


28  CHARLES    CLIFFORD, 

believed  in  Chris^  and  because  she 
desired  to  be  with  him.  And  she 
wished  that  I  would  often  talk  to  hei 
little  Charles  and  Mary,  and  put  yon 
in  mind  of  what  your  mother  had 
taught  you." 

Mr.  Lee  talked  a  good  deal  more 
with  Charles,  and  then  they  knelt 
down,  and  Mr.  Lee  prayed  that  God 
would  comfort  the  afflicted  family. 

I  will  not  stop  to  tell  about  the 
funeral,  and  about  the  grief  of  every 
one  in  the  house.  It  is  enough  to 
say,  that  the  body  of  Mrs.  Clifford 
w^as  buried,  and  that  when  little 
Mary  came  to  understand  that  she 
should  never  see  her  mother  any 
more  in  this  world,  she  would  cry 
till  she  was  quite  sick.     Every  tning 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  29 

appeared  mournful  at  Riverbank  for 
a  long  while  after  tne  death  of  Mrs 
Clifford.  The  servants  went  sadl} 
about  the  house,  and  seemed  to  do 
every  thing  with  sorrowful  hearts. 
Captain  Clifford  never  smiled,  and 
spent  almost  all  his  time  in  his  study, 
in  reading  and  prayer. 

Charles  and  Mary  were  greatly 
distressed;  but  the  grief  of  little 
children  does  not  last  very  long.  It 
was  not  many  days  before  Mary  was 
jumping  and  running  about  the  lawn 
and  garden  as  usual.  At  times,  in- 
deed, she  would  see  somethinof  which 
reminded  he  r  of  her  mother,  and  then 
she  would  weep  bitterly.  It  was 
much  longer  before  Charles  became 

cheerful ;  and  even  after  the  violence 

3* 


3^  CHARLES    CLIFFORD 

of  his  sorrow  had  passed  away,  there 
was  scarcely  ever  an  hour  in  which 
he  did  not  remember  his  mother's 
last  words  to  him.  Captain  Clifford 
used  to  talk  a  great  deal  to  Charles 
and  endeavoured  to  make  him  think 
of  good  things;  and  the  little  boy 
really  seemed  as  if  he  was  resolved 
to  love  and  serve  God. 

A  few  w^eeks  after  the  death  of 
Mrs.  Clifford,  a  note  came  to  River- 
bank,  to  say  that  Mrs.  Lee,  the  mi- 
nister's wife,  w^ouli  be  glad  to  have 
a  visit  from  Miss  Esther  and  the 
children.  The  captain  thought  this 
very  proper,  as  he  was  desirous  that 
Charles  and  Mary  should  have  some 
recreation ;  and  he  knew  also  that 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  31 

Mr.  Lee  would  teach  them  a  great 
many  good  things. 

The  next  morning,  very  early,  the 
carriage  was  brought  to  the  door; 
the  trunks  were  tied  on  behind  ;  the 
little  folks  were  neatly  dressed ;  and 
then  they  set  off  for  Mr.  Lee's 
Mary  was  delighted  with  every  thing 
that  she  saw,  and  asked  her  aunt  a 
hundred  questions.  And  Charles 
was  pleased  too,  but  every  now  and 
then  he  w^ould  think  of  the  times 
when  he  used  to  go  in  the  carriage 
wdth  his  dear  mother,  and  this  made 
him  quite  sober.  At  last  Miss  Es- 
*;her  asked  him  why  he  seemed  so 
sorrowful.  Charles  was  silent  for 
some  time,  and  then  sobbed  out 
"  Because  I  have  no  mother  !" 


32  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

Miss  Esther  then  tried  to  comfort 
the  little  boy.  She  told  him  that  he 
)iad  a  mother  still,  that  she  was  in 
heaven,  and  that  if  he  was  a  good 
boy,  he  should  see  her  again.  She 
also  told  him  that  God  would  be  his 
father,  and  would  do  every  thing  for 
him  that  he  needed.  She  put  him 
in  mind  of  the  way  in  which  the 
Lord  clothes  the  lilies,  and  takes 
care  of  the  birds. 

As  they  drove  along,  Miss  Esther 
looked  over  a  fence,  and  saw  two 
sheep  in  the  corner  of  a  field.  One 
of  them  was  quietly  lying  down, 
while  the  other  stood  by  it  looking 
around.  "See  there,"  said  she  to 
the  children,  "  do  you  not  see  how 
the  Lord  takes  care  of  every  living 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  33 

thing  ?  It  is  he  who  gives  these  in- 
nocent sheep  every  thing  that  is  good 
for  them.  See  how  contented  and 
happy  they  are.  Now  you  may  be 
sure  that  your  heavenly  Father  will 
take  care  of  you." 

They  began  to  approach  Mr.  Lee's 
house,  and  when  they  came  near  tc 
his  large  gate,  there  he  was,  stand- 
ing with  his  little  daughter,  ready 
to  welcome  them.  The  house  was 
of  one  story  only,  but  then  it  had  a 
great  many  rooms  It  was  w^hite, 
and  there  were  v'nes  running  all 
over  the  sides.  The  court-yard  be- 
fore the  house  was  filled  with  flow- 
ering plants  and  shrubs.  On  one 
side  of  the  house  there  was  a  garden  ; 
on  the  other   side  was  a  large  or 


34  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

chard,  with  apples,  pears,  and  peaches 
hanging  on  the  trees.  Behind  the 
house  was  a  green  meadow,  which 
descended  gradually  till  it  reached 
the  little  brook  which  ran  along 
through  the  farm. 

Mr.  Lee  conducted  them  all  into 
the  house.  There  was  Mrs.  Lee, 
sitting  ready  to  receive  them,  and 
the  children  were  jumping  with  joy 
at  the  arrival  of  the  little  visiters. 
In  an  arm-chair,  by  the  window,  sat 
old  Mr.  Carter,  the  father  of  Mrs.  Lee; 
and  a  beautiful  Irish  greyhound 
was  lyinp  in  the  doorway.  The  day 
was  spent  very  agreeably  by  the 
young  people.  Jane  Lee  showed 
them  the  way  to  the  little  brook, 
where  they  were  delighted  to  see  the 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  35 

oright  fishes  sporting  in  the  places 
where  the  water  was  still.  They 
made  little  boats  to  sail  in  the  stream^ 
and  played  as  children  commonly  do 
until  it  was  time  for  dinner. 

After  dinner,  Mr.  Lee  called  the 
children  all  around  him,  and  said, 
'  My  dear  little  friends,  I  make  it  a 
rule  to  let  no  day  pass  without  teach- 
ing my  children  something.  I  hope 
our  young  visiters  will  not  be  sorry 
to  learn  something  too." 

"  O,  no,  sir,"  said  Charles,  "  we 
wish  to  learn  very  much." 

*'  Then  I  will  tell  you  all  how  you 
may  be  happy  as  long  as  you  live." 

*'  Yes,"  said  Charles,  "  that  is  what 
we  all  wish  to  know ;  w^e  all  desire 
to  be  happy .    And  I  am  not  so  happy 


36  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

now  as  T  used  to  be."  Here  'he 
little  fellow  looked  very  sorrowful. 

"  I  do  not  mean,"  said  Mr.  Leo, 
"that  I  can  tell  you  how  to  keep 
from  being  in  trouble.  Every  one 
has  his  troubles.  Afflictions  come 
apon  everybody.  The  Lord  some- 
times sends  trials  upon  those  whom 
he  loves  best.  Can  any  of  you  tell 
me  what  orood  man  is  mentioned  in 
the  Bible,  who  suffered  great  afflic- 
tions?" 

Charles.  David  was  often  in 
trouble. 

Mary.  Poor  Joseph  was  sold  hy 
his  brethren. 

Mr.  Lee  smiled,  to  see  that  little 
Mary  understood  so  well  what  was 
meant.     She  had  often  heard  from 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  37 

her  mother  the  story  of  Joseph ;  and 
she  blushed  when  she  perceived  that 
slie  had  answered  aright. 

Mr.  Lee.  Is  there  not  another  who 
was  more  distressed  *«han  either  of 
these  ? 

Jane  Lee.  Yes,  sir ;  Job  was  griev- 
ouslj  afflicted. 

Mr.  L.  Mention  some  of  the  things 
which  he  suffered. 

Jane.  Robbers  carried  away  all  his 
oxen  and  his  asses.  Fire  from  hea- 
ven consumed  his  flocks  of  sheep. 
The  Chaldeans  took  off  his  camels. 
All  his  servants  were  killed.  And 
then  his  seven  sons  and  three  daugh- 
ters were  destroyed.  All  this  fell 
upon  Job  in  one  day.   Then  he  broke 

out  with  boils,  over  his  whole  body ; 
4 


38  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

and  what  made   it  worse,  his  wife 
behaved  very  w^ickedly,  and  his  three 
intimate  friends  reproached  him,  in 
stead  of  comforting  him. 

Mr.  L.  Very  well.  Can  you  tell 
me  of  one  who  was  much  more  holy 
than  Job,  and  who  was  a  great  suf- 
ferer ? 

Charles.  The  Lord  Jesus  Christ 

Mr.  L.  Yes,  my  children,  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ  was  a  man  of  sorrows, 
and  acquainted  with  grief.  And  all 
that  he  suffered  was  for  the  sake  of 
sinners.  Now  when  w^e  are  in  trou 
ble,  we  should  remember  this,  and  i 
would  help  to  make  us  contented. 

Charles.  But  how  can  a  person  bo 
happy  in  the  midst  of  troubles? 

Mr  L.  If  you  were  sure  that  Gc>d 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD  39 

lowd  j^ou,  and  that  you  would  go 
to  litwvoii;  would  it  not  make  you 
happy? 

Charles.  C^,.  yes!  I  should  be 
happy  to  t.l\i)Ji  of  seeing  my  dear 
mother  again. 

M)'.  L.  If  you  vvive  your  heart  to 
God,  and  put  yo^r  tiust  in  the  Lord 
.Tesus,  you  will  be  supported  in  time 
of  distress.  God  takes  particulai 
care  of  his  dear  children.  When  he 
afflicts  them,  it  is  for  their  good. 
They  know  that  whatever  befalls 
them  is  just  as  it  ought  to  be.  No- 
thing can  happen  that  is  not  permit- 
ted by  their  heavenly  Father. 

Charles.  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  talk 
so,  sir ;  because  I  wish  to  know  how 
to  be  comforted  when  I  feel  sorry. 


40  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

Mr.  L.  You  and  your  dear  sister 
nave  been  much  afflicted.  And  now, 
my  dear  children,  you  must  go  and 
tell  your  sorrows  to  the  Lord.  He 
will  hear  your  prayer,  if  you  pu 
your  trust  in  him ;  I  am  sure  that 
he  will  be  a  father  to  you. 

Mr.  Lee  talked  a  long  time  to  the 
children,  and  then  sent  them  out 
again  to  their  plays  They  roamed 
through  the  farm,  peeped  into  the 
birds'-nests,  and  ran  about  the  or- 
chard. They  made  baskets  out  of 
the  rushes,  and  rode  upon  the  gentle 
old  pony.  And  when  it  became 
dark  in  the  evening,  they  were  so 
much  wearied,  that  they  were  glad 
to  retire  to  their  chambers,  wheie 
they  soon  went  to  sleep. 


rz 


CHARLES    CLIFIORD.  43 


CHAPTER  III. 

It  v^^as  more  than  a  week  before 
Charles  and  Mary  went  home.  As 
long  as  they  remained  at  Mr.  Lee's, 
they  were  pleased  and  contented. 
Old  Mr  Carter  nsed  to  take  the 
children  on  his  knee,  and  tell  them 
amusino:  stories.  One  morning  he 
bade  little  Charles  come  to  him,  and 
taking  him  up,  said,  "  Child,  look 
at  these  wrinkles  ir  my  old  face; 
look  at  these  gray  hairs.  Do  you 
know  what  makes  them  ?" 

Charles.  Yes,  sir.  I  think  it  is 
because  you  are  so  old. 

Mr   Carter.    Yes.    I  am  seventy 


44  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

five  years  of  age.  Once  I  was  a 
little  boy,  like  you,  and  when  I  usee 
to  hear  people  speak  of  the  troubles 
of  age,  I  did  not  believe  what  they 
said.  But  now  I  know  that  ola 
age  is  full  of  trials.  Look  into  my 
mouth ;  I  have  not  one  tooth.  I  an? 
lame  in  one  knee  from  the  rheuma 
tism,  and  I  cannot  hear  what  you 
say  unless  you  speak  very  loud. 

Charles.  O,  do  you  not  wish 
you  were  a  little  boy  again? 

Mr.  C.  No,  my  child.  It  is 
painful  to  be  old  ;  but  there  are  so 
many  bad  things  in  a  long  life,  that 
I  should  not  wish  to  live  mine  over 
agrain.  I  have  this  thouo^ht  thai 
comforts  me :  the  older  T  get,  the 
nearer  I  get  to  my  home 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  45 

Charles.  Is  not  this  your  home  ? 

Mr.  C.  This  is  my  earthly  home  * 
out  I  mean  my  heavenly  home. 
Before  many  days,  I  expect  to  go 
to  my  heavenly  Father,  and  I  am 
just  waiting  here  until  he  invites 
me  to  come. 

Charles  looked  very  serious,  and 
seemed  to  be  thinking  very  earnestly 
about  what  Mr.  Carter  had  said. 
The  old  gentleman  took  notice  of 
this,  and  said  nothing  for  some  time, 
for  he  wished  the  little  boy  to  con- 
sider what  he  said.  At  last  he 
began  to  speak  to  him  again. 

**  Charles,"  said  he,  "if  you  wish 
to  have  a  happy  old  age,  begin  to 
serve  God  no/v.  Little  boys  often 
suppose  they  are  too  young  to  think 


•46  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

«iDout  religion,  and  so  they  put  it 
off  until  they  shall  get  to  be  men. 
And  Avhen  they  have  grown  up, 
they  are  so  much  taken  up  with 
worldly  things,  that  they  care 
nothinor  about  relitrion." 

Charles.  O,  sir,  I  think  about 
these  things  very  often.  I  wish  to 
be  a  child  of  the  Lord,  for  my  dear 
mother  told  me  to  love  and  serve 
God.  This  was  the  last  thing  she 
ever  said  to  me. 

Here  the  tears  began  to  run  down 
the  little  boy's  cheeks.  Mr.  Carter 
thought  that  he  had  said  enough 
for  the  present,  and  therefore  began 
to  talk  to  some  one  else  who  was 
just  then  coming  into  the  room. 

Their   visit  had  been  prolonged 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  47 

severaldaj  5, and  Miss  F^sther  thought 
It  was  time  to  return.  The  httle 
Lees  were  very  sorry  to  part  with 
their  playmates,  but  Miss  Esther 
promised  to  send  the  carriage  for 
Jane,  to  come  and  pay  them  a  visit. 
The  carriage  drove  away,  and  the 
little  folks  kissed  their  hands"  and 
waved  their  handkerchiefs  as  long 
as  they  could  see  one  another. 

When  they  came  within  sight  of 
Riverbank,  Mary  clapped  her  hands, 
and  cried  out,  "  Home — home — 
there  is   our  dear  home — now   we 

shall  see  our  dear  father  and " 

She  was  almost  about  to  say,  "mo- 
ther," but  she  remembered  that  she 
had  no  mother,  and  her  countenance 
immediately     became    sad.       Poor 


iS  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

Charles  also  was  very  sorrow fai, 
for  ev^ery  tree  and  every  flower 
put  him  in  mind  of  what  he  had 
lost.  But  all  these  feelings  passed 
away  as  soon  as  they  drove  into 
the  avenue,  under  the  elms,  for 
whom  should  they  see  there  but 
Captain  Clifford,  standing  ready  to 
w^elcome  them,  and  help  them  out 
of  the  carriage.  He  took  his  child 
ren  in  his  arms,  and  kissed  them 
aofain  and  as^ain.  Then  he  led  his 
sister  into  the  house,  where  all  the 
domestics  hastened  out  to  shake 
hands  with  the  children.  When 
they  were  gathered  in  the  evening 
for  family  worship,  Captain  Clifford 
gave  thanks   to    God  for   bringing 


CHAKLES    CLIFFORD.  49 

tnem   all  together  again  in   health 
and  safety. 

Every  thing  went  on  at  River* 
bank  in  a  very  orderly  w^ay.  In  the 
morning,  after  the  children  had  read 
in  the  Bible,  and  prayed  in  their  own 
chambers,  they  came  into  the  library. 
Here  the  family  was  collected,  ser- 
vants and  all,  for  prayer.  The  Cap- 
tain used  first  to  read  a  chapter  in 
the  Bible ;  then  they  sang  a  psalm  or 
hymn  ;  and  then  they  all  knelt  down, 
and  he  offered  up  a  prayer  to  God. 
He  used  to  say  that  the  day  always 
passed  more  pleasantly  for  being 
sweetened  with  prayer  ;  and  besides, 
that  meeting  together  in  this  way  for 
family  worship  made  them  love  one 
another  more. 


50  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

After  breakfast,  the  children  came 
again  into  the  library,  when  they 
learned  a  Scripture  lesson.  Then 
Mary  went  up-stairs  to  her  sewing, 
in  her  aunt  Esther's  room,  and 
Charles  remained  with  his  father,  to 
attend  to  his  studies.  Every  day 
the  captain  used  to  take  them  out  to 
ride  or  walk,  and  wherever  they 
went,  he  endeavoured  to  teach  them 
something  useful. 

Charles  and  Mary  were  both  intel- 
ligent, and  as  they  grew  up,  they 
seemed  never  to  forget  what  their 
mother  had  taught  them.  It  would 
*;ake  me  too  long  to  tell  every  thing 
that  happened.  Riverbank  w^as  a 
peaceful,  retired  place.  The  child- 
ren  had  no  companions,  and  their 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  51 

tatlier  and  aunt  took  great  care  to 
teach  them  every  thing  that  was 
good.  They  were  healthy,  ana  as 
they  became  larger,  everybody  who 
used  to  come  to  the  house  admired 
their  sweet  behaviour. 

But  what  is  better  than  all,  these 
children  began  very  early  to  fear  the 
Lord.  The  dying  words  of  Mrs 
Clifford  sank  into  the  heart  of  hei 
son.  Every  day,  for  many  months^ 
he  used  to  think  of  them,  and  praj 
to  God  that  he  mio^ht  be  tauo^ht  how 
to  obey  them  He  chose  the  Lord 
to  be  his  God,  and  made  up  his  mind 
to  be  the  Lord's  servant,  and  to  love 
and  follow  Christ.  Let  my  young 
readers  think  of  this.  Let  them 
remember   what  a  sweet,  beautiful 


52  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

thino^  it  is  for  children  to  mve  their 
hearts  to  the  Lord.  It  is  just  as  pro- 
per for  young  persons  to  be  rehgious 
as  for  old  persons.  Little  Samuel 
was  very  young  when  he  began  to 
serve  the  Lord.  And  Christ  is  well 
pleased  when  children  love  him  and 
trust  in  him. 

Charles  loved  his  sister,  and 
thought,  very  properly,  that  as  he 
was  older  than  she,  he  ought  to  give 
her  good  advice,  and  set  her  a  good 
example.  It  was  a  pretty  sight  to 
see  this  little  boy  and  girl  going  hand 
in  hand  to  Sunday-school.  And 
then  no  one  ever  heard  any  cross 
words  between  them,  for  they  knew 
that    it    is    the   will  of    God   that 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  53 

brothers  and  sisters  should  tenderly 
ove  one  another. 

One  of  the  first  things  which  they 
had  learned,  was  that  they  ought  to 
honour  tneir  father  and  their  mother. 
And  after  the  death  of  Mrs.  Clifford, 
the  captain  used  to  tell  them  that 
they  must  be  as  obedient  and  kind 
to  their  affectionate  aunt,  as  they 
would  have  been  to  their  mother 
They  used  to  be  quick  and  ready  m 
attending  to  the  very  first  word  of 
their  father  or  aunt;  and  scarcely  a 
day  passed,  in  which  they  did  not 
try  to  contrive  some  way  to  please 
these  good  friends 

They  were  also  taught  to  be  good 
x>  the  poor.     One  blustering,  windy 

day,  in  the  spring  of  the  year,  when 

5* 


54  CHAKLES    CLIF/GRD. 

Charles  was  quite  a  little  boy.  he 
was  taking  a  walk  with  Mr.  Lee. 
As  tliey  came  to  the  edge  of  the 
orchard,  they  saw  a  poor  old  blind 
man,  who  was  led  by  a  dog.  Mr 
Lee  began  to  talk  with  him,  and 
found  that  his  eyes  had  been  blown 
out  by  the  bursting  of  a  cannon 
Charles  felt  so  much  pity  for  him, 
that  he  led  him  all  the  way  to  River- 
bank,  and  begged  his  father  to  let 
him  lodge  there  that  niglt.  And 
the  next  morning,  he  gave  him  food 
enough  to  last  him  several  days. 

But  I  cannot  stop  to  tell  of  all  that 
happened  while  they  were  little 
children.  One  year  after  another 
passed  away,  and  Charles  and  Mary 
weie  constantly  improving,  and  be- 


55 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  57 

coming  more  dear  to  their  father 
The  captain  took  all  the  education 
of  Charles  into  his  own  hands.  But 
at  length,  the  health  of  this  kind 
father  began  to  suffer  very  much,  so 
that  he  could  not  teach  the  children 
any  longer.  He  became  very  thin 
and  pale,  his  voice  lost  its  strength, 
and  he  was  almost  always  coughing. 
When  Charles  perceived  this,  he 
was  very  much  afflicted.  He  was 
now  quite  a  stout  boy,  and  he  knew 
that  something  serious  was  the  mat- 
ter with  his  father.  He  remembered 
too  that  it  was  just  in  this  way  his 
mother  was  seized  with  the  con- 
sumption. This  alarmed  him  so, 
that  he  could  hardly  bear  to  think 
of  it.     He  used  to  think  thus :  "  O, 


58  CHARI^S    CLIFFORD. 

if  my  dear  father  should  die,  what 
would  become  of  me  !  I  should  then 
be  an  orphan  indeed!  And  what 
would  poor  Mary  do  !*'  Then  he 
remembered  what  good  Mr.  Lee 
used  to  tell  him  about  the  afflictions 
of  this  life. 

He  used  to  go  aside  and  pray 
earnestly,  and  this  always  made  him 
feel  more  composed  and  cheerful. 
He  found  also  a  great  many  texts  in 
the  Bible  which  gave  him  comfort. 
He  read  where  it  is  written,  *'  Cast 
thy  burden  on  the  Lord,  and  he  will 
sustain  thee."  "  Commit  thy  way 
uiito  the  Lord,  trust  also  in  him,  and 
he  will  bring  it  to  pass."  And  he 
*elt  sure  that  God  would  do  nothing 
Dut  what  was  rig^t  and  merciful. 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  59 

The  health  of  Captain  Clifford 
became  more  and  more  feeble,  until 
at  length  the  physicians  said  that 
nothing  seemed  likely  to  do  him 
good,  except  a  voyage  to  sea,  or  a 
removal  for  a  time  to  some  warmer 
climate.  The  captain  thought  so 
himself,  and  said  that  he  w^ould  go 
nd  spend  a  year  in  the  south  of 
France,  if  he  knev^  what  to  do  with 
his  children  during  his  absence. 
Charles  at  once  declared  that  he 
wished  to  go  with  his  father,  that  he 
might  wait  upon  him,  and  nurse 
him.  But  the  captain  said  this 
would  never  d^;  because  Charles 
was  too  young  to  be  of  much  service, 
and  besides,  it  was  a  very  important 
part  of  hi?  life,  which  he  ought  noi 


60  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

to  lose  by  any  means.  He  wished 
Charles  to  learn  as  much  as  he 
could,  and  the  loss  of  a  year's  studies 
would  be  very  great.  But  the  cap- 
tain had  one  reason  for  not  wishinor 
to  take  Charles,  which  he  did  not 
mention  to  any  one  but  his  sister. 
He  did  not  think  it  likely  that  he 
should  ever  recover  his  health ;  and 
he  thought  it  would  be  a  dreadful 
thing  for  his  child  to  be  left  an  or- 
phan in  a  foreign  land,  or  upon  the 
wide  ocean. 

Mr.  Lee  was  sent  for ;  and  when 
he  heard  the  case,  he  proposed  an* 
other  plan,  which  was,  that  Miss 
Esther  should  bring  Mary  to  live  at 
his  house,  and  that  Charles  should 
be  sent  to  a  board  ino^-school,  which 


CHARLES    CLIFFORJ.  61 

was  kept  by  his  brother-in-law,  about 

seven  miles  distant. 

Captain  Chfford  was  sorry  to  send 

nis  son  away  from  home ;    but   he 

saw  no  other  way,  and  so  he  con 

sented.    Thev  ao^reed,  therefore,  that 

the  house  at  Riverbank  should  be 

shut  up,  and  that  as  soon  as  possible 

the  captain  should  sail  for  ^Marseilles 

As  soon  as  this  was  determined  on, 

everyone  became  sad.     The  captain 

was  grieved  because  he  had  to  leave 

his  dear  family,  especially  as  he  did 

not  think  he  should  ever  see  them 

again.      Miss   Esther   Clifford   was 

sorry  to  part  with  her  brother  and 

with  Charles.     And  it  almost  broke 

the  hearts  of  the  children  ^o  think 
6 


62  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

of  being  separated  from  their  dear 
father  and  from  one  another.  But 
the  captain  said,  "  The  will  of  the 
Lord  be  done  !  I  trust  my  children 
love  the  Lord,  and  will  endeavour  to 
serve  him.  Charles  has  good  prin 
ciples,  and  will  not  forget  his  mo- 
ther's last  words.'' 

After  Charles  had  gone  out  of  the 
room,  Mr.  Lee  said,  "I  do  not  fear 
about  Charles ;  he  is  a  good  boy,  and 
will  do  well.  He  has  fine  health ; 
he  is  a  stout  and  manly  fellow,  and 
can  ride  and  swim  as  w^ell  as  a  man. 
It  will  do  him  good  to  be  away  from 
home  for  a  time,  and  I  hope,  when 
you  return,  you  will  see  him  greatly 
improved.     Now  let  us  kneel  down, 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  63 

and  pray  to  God  for  his  blessing  on 
our  plan." 

So  they  knelt  down,  and  prayed 
that  ihe  Lord  would  bless  al.  the  fa- 
mily during  their  separation. 


64  CEIARLES    CLIFFORD. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

It  was  a  sorrowful  day  at  River- 
*/ank  when  Charles  Clifford  left  home 
to  go  to  Mr.  Carter's  academy.  As 
he  rode  silently  along,  by  the  side 
of  Mr.  Lee,  who  accompanied  him, 
many  sad  thoughts  filled  his  mind. 
He  thoun^ht  of  his  father,  and  was 
much  in  doubt  whether  he  should 
ever  see  him  again.  To  divert  his 
mind  to  other  subjects,  Mr.  Lee  be- 
gan to  give  him  some  advice.  He 
told  him  that  there  would  be  many 
things  to  tempt  him,  and  that  bad 
companions  would  try  to  make 
nim  do  wrong.     He  told  him   that 


CHARLES    CLIFF^JKO.  65 

he  must  seek  help  of  God,  for  that 
ne  would  now  be  exposed  to  greater 
dangrers  than  he  had  ever  been  tried 
with  before. 

As  they  approached  the  end  of 
their  ride,  Charles  began  to  feel  some 
agitation.  Though  he  had  been 
used  to  see  a  great  deal  of  company 
at  E-iverbank,  yet  he  had  never  been 
away  from  home  for  any  lengtli  of 
time.  He  felt  as  if  he  w^as  going  out 
upon  the  wide  world  to  shift  for 
himsel*^.  And  he  hfted  up  his  heart 
to  God  as  he  rode  along,  and  prayed 
that  he  would  direct  his  steps  and 
preserve  his  soul. 

The  academy  was  a  very  large 
building,  several  stories  high,  stand- 
ing in  the  midst  of  a  green.  At  one 
6^ 


6G  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

side  of  this  green  was  the  dweUing 
of  Mr.  Carter,  the  preceptor,  and  at 
the  other  side  a  low,  brick  building 
of  one  story ;  this  was  called  the 
school-house,  because  the  boys  were 
here  instructed,  for  the  large  edifice 
was  taken  up  with  lodging-rooms 
and  the  like.  Mr.  Lee  took  his 
young  companion  into  the  house, 
where  they  found  Mr.  Carter.  Charles 
was  rejoiced  to  find  that  a  son  of  his 
good  old  friend  at  the  parsonage  was 
to  be  his  preceptor ;  but  he  could  not 
help  shedding  some  tears  when  Mr. 
Lee  went  away,  and  left  him  by 
himself  in  a  strange  place. 

Mr.  Carter  was  very  kind,  and 
told  him  that  as  this  was  the  first 
day   of   his   com.ng  to   school,   be 


CHARLLS    CLIFFORD.  67 

would  not  require  any  lessons,  but 
that  he  might  go  in  and  out  as  he 
chose,  so  as  to  get  used  to  the  place 
He  also  showed  him  the  room  where 
he  was  to  sleep,  and  there  was  a  row 
of  beds  along  the  wall  for  four  or  five 
other  boys. 

Every  thing  was  new  to  Charles, 
and  as  young  people  are  fond  of 
novelty,  he  was  much  entertained. 
The  hum  and  bustle  in  the  school- 
room seemed  very  great,  and  the 
boys  gazed  and  whispered  when 
they  saw  the  new  scholar  enter  the 
room.  And  afterwards,  when  the 
whole  crowd  of  frolicsome  fellows 
turned  out  upon  the  green,  and 
shouted  and  screamed  and  ran  about 
with  violence,  he  perceived  that  he 


68  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

had  got  into  new  compan'  It 
pleased  him  to  see  that  they  all 
looked  so  happy,  and  he  began  to 
think  that  he  ';hould  soon  be  quite 
t  home. 

The  bell  x-xog  for  supper,  and  the 
boys  scampered  and  bustled  into  the 
dining  hall. 

Here  a  long  table  was  spread,  and 
the  scholars  were  seated  in  rows. 
Charles  was  too  much  embarrassed 
to  enjoy  his  meal,  for  the  noise  and 
confusion  of  so  many  was  great,  and 
every  thing  was  different  from  what 
he  had  been  accustomed  to  at  home. 
After  the  meal  was  finished,  the  lads 
went  into  different  rooms  with  their 
several  tutors  Some  delivered 
speeches,  others  read  compositions, 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  69 

and  a  few  took  lessons  in  drawing 
and  music. 

When  this  was  done,  they  were 
called  together  again  into  a  large 
hall  for  pra3'ers,  and  then  prepared 
to  go  to  rest 

When  Charles  went  up  to  the 
room  where  he  was  to  lodge,  he  saw 
that  five  or  six  boys  were  to  sleep  in 
the  same  place.  They  were  rude 
and  inquisitive,  and  asked  him  a 
great  many  idle  questions.  But 
what  distressed  him  most  of  all  was, 
that  every  one  of  them  went  to  bed 
without  any  reading  of  the  Scrip- 
tures, and  without  prayer.  Now 
Charles  had  been  taught  by  his  dear 
mother  never  to  lie  down  at  night 
without  havino^  thanked  God  for  the 


70  CHARLES    CLIFFORD 

blessings  of  the  day,  and  asked  his 
protectmg  care  during  the  night. 
He  looked  about  in  vain  for  a  private 
place,  to  which  he  might  go  by  him- 
self for  this  purpose.  How  different 
was  this  from  Riverbank,  where  he 
had  his  own  little  room,  with  a  chair, 
and  table,  and  book-shelf  At  last 
he  sat  down  by  the  lamp  which 
stood  upon  a  bench,  and  read  in  the 
little  pocket  Bible  which  his  mother 
had  given  him.  Then  he  opened 
the  door,  and  walked  in  tiie  long: 
entry.  At  one  end  of  it  was  a  win- 
dow, into  which  the  moon  was  shin 
ing  very  brightly.  Here  he  knelt 
down,  and  earnestly  prayed.  He 
aslted  the  Lord  to  bless  his  father, 
and  sister,  and  aunt,  and  also  tha^ 


CIARLES    CLIFFORD.  73 

he  might  himself  be  kept  from  fall- 
ing into  temptation. 

In  the  morning  Charles  was  up 
very  early.  Though  it  was  quite 
cold,  he  went  into  the  school-room 
by  himself,  and  there  read  and 
prayed ;  and  it  made  him  feel  happy 
to  think  that  God  was  a  friend  who 
was  always  near  him. 

Before  many  days,  he  had  become 
quite  well  acquainted  with  the  ways 
of  the  school.  He  studied  diligently 
and  was  the  best  scholar  in  his  class. 
The  t^^achers  soon  took  notice  that 
they  had  no  occasion  to  watch 
Charles  Clifford.  He  was  always  in 
his  place  ?t  the  right  time.  His 
books  were  always  neat  and  in  good 
order      Anrl  he  was  never  whisper 


72  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

ing  or  playing  during  the  hours  of 
study,  as  was  frequently  the  case 
with  the  other  boys. 

One  day  a  strange  gentleman 
came  in  with  his  son,  whom  he  had 
brought  to  the  academy.  As  he  was 
looking  at  the  scholars,  he  stopped 
and  said  to  Mr.  Carter,  ^'  Who  is 
that  fine  healthy-looking  boy  near 
the  window  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  I 
have  seen  him  before." 

"  That,"  said  the  preceptor,  "  is 
the  only  son  of  Captain  Clifford,  of 
River  bank." 

"  Is   it   possible !"  said  Mr.  Rej 
nolds;   "I  am  well  acquainted  with 
hisi  father.     I  must  speak  to   him." 
Mr.  Reynolds  then  called  Charles, 
and  shook  hands  with  him.     He  also 


CHARLES    C1.IFFORD.  73 

'  introduced  to  him   his   son   Henry 

Reynolds,  and  said   he  hoped   they 

would  be  friends.    Charles  was  pleas- 

d  with   this,  for   he  had  very  few 

acquaintances  among  the  scholars. 

It  was  very  distressing  to  Charles 
to  see  how  much  folly  and  wicked 
ness  there  was  amons^  the  boys. 
Many  of  them  seemed  to  have  no 
regard  for  the  truth,  and  were  ready 
to  say  any  thing,  in  order  to  deceive 
tlie  teacher.  And  when  they  were 
dt  their  sports,  there  were  some  of 
them  who  cursed  and  swore,  and 
ui5Ti.d  other  lans^uaore  of  the  wors* 
kind.  Every  few  days  there  was 
quarrel]  ino^  and  lio-htino-  amono- 
them,  and  every  variety  of  mischiev- 
ous tricks  ana  nranks.    Such  thincrs 


74  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

Sjave  Charles  much  pain.  He  sa\«r 
that  these  boys  had  not  the  fear  of 
God  before  their  eyes,  and  that  many 
of  them  were  not  only  careless,  but 
wicked.  Though  he  was  fond  of 
play,  yet  he  could  not  join  with  those 
who  were  profane  in  their  language. 
There  were  a  few  who  seemed  to  be 
quiet  boys,  but  even  these  were  often 
led  into  faults  by  the  example  of 
others,  and  because  they  were  afraid 
or  ashamed  to  do  right.  This  made 
Charles  think  much  of  the  advice 
which  Solomon  gives :  '*  My  son,  if 
sinners  entice  thee,  consent  thou 
not;"  and  also  of  our  Saviour's 
won  is  about  those  who  are  ashamed 
of  him  and  of  his  cause. 

The  larger  boys  endeavoured  to 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  75 

get  Charles  to  join  them  in  their  mis- 
chief, but  he  always  refused.  And 
he  determined  that  he  would  be  open 
and  sincere,  and  always  tell  them 
the  reason  why  he  would  not  do 
what  they  desired.  He  was  kind 
and  polite  to  every  one,  and  used  to 
play  with  them  at  ball,  and  go  with 
them  to  skate  upon  the  frozen  mill- 
pond.  But  when  they  asked  him  to 
help  in  any  mischief,  he  w^ould  say, 
''  No,  I  dare  not,  for  it  is  wrono-." 
He  also  used  to  reprove  those  who 
used  bad  language,  or  who  told  false- 
hoods ;  and  ti  is  made  several  of  them 
dislike  him  very  much. 

Charles  tried  for  a  long  time  to  per- 
suade the  boys  who  lodged  in  the  same 
room  to  read  sometimes  in  the  Bible. 


76  CHA.RLES    CLIFFORD. 

but  they  would  not  be  persuaded. 
One  little  fellow  indeed  consented  to 
read  with  him,  but  he  was  laughed 
at  bv  the  others,  and  he  had  not 
firmness  enough  to  do  what  he  knew 
was  right.  And  then,  to  show  how 
bold  he  was,  he  joined  with  the  rest 
\n  ridiculing  Charles,  whom  they 
lick-named  the  parson.  Charles  was 
wnllling  to  bear  their  reproaches.  He 
remembered  that  his  blessed  Saviour 
had  been  ridiculed  and  reproached, 
and  he  used  to  pray  for  those  who 
laughed  at  him.  In  one  of  the  books 
which  his  father  had  given  him,  he 
found  a  sentence  which  pleased  him 
so  much,  that  he  copied  it  in  large 
letters  into  the  beginning  of  his 
writingf-book.     It  was  this  :    No  one 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  77 

ever  became  distinguished  who  was 
afraid  of  being  laughed  at. 

He  learned  more  and  more  whai 
Mr.  Lee  meant,  when  he  told  him 
that  he  would  be  exposed  to  greater 
danger  and  temptations  than  he  had 
ever  known  before.  Sometimes  he 
had  sorrowful  thoughts  about  home, 
and  especially  about  his  father,  from 
whom  he  had  not  heard  any  thing. 
Yet  he  tried,  in  the  midst  of  all  this, 
to  seek  help  from  God,  and  he  re- 
loiced  that  he  had  ever  been  tauofhl 
to  seek  his  favour. 


7* 


78  CHARLFS    CLIFFORD. 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  Bible  teaches  us  to  .ove  out 
neighbour  as  ourselves,  and  every 
true  Christian  tries  to  do  good  to  all 
around  him.  Charles  Clifford  de- 
sired to  make  himself  useful,  and, 
therefore,  as  soon  as  he  found  that 
there  was  a  Sunday-school  in  the 
neighbourhood,  he  made  a  visit  to  it. 
The  superintendent  asked  him  if  he 
wished  to  join  the  sciiool,  and  Charles 
told  him  that  he  ^bought  he  should 
1)6  able  to  instruct  a  little  class  of 
children,  who  were  learning  to  read. 
So  the  superintendent  gave  him  two 
little  boys  to  begin  with.    They  were 


CHAHIES    CLIFFORD.  79 

the  sons  of  a  fisherman,  who  lived 
on  the  banks  of  the  river,  about  three 
miles  off.  He  was  much  delighted 
with  his  business,  and  thought  it  one 
of  the  happiest  hours  in  the  whole 
week  when  he  met  his  little  scholars. 
But  this  was  a  new  occasion  for  the 
ridicule  of  his  playmates,  and  there 
was  hardly  a  day  in  which  they  did 
not  tease  him  about  his  Sunday- 
school. 

All  this  time  Charles  was  very 
diligently  learning  every  thing  which 
was  appointed  for  him  He  read 
Latin  and  Greek,  and  studied  geo- 
graphy, history,  and  mathematics. 
He  took  care  to  write  a  beautiful 
hand,  and  also  learned  to  draw.  But 
what  deliirhted  him  most  of  all,  was 


80  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

the  study  of  the  Holy  Scriptures 
He  read  the  Old  and  New  Testa- 
ments over  and  over,  and  used  to 
commit  a  number  of  verses  to  me- 
mory every  morning  before  break- 
fast. And  in  order  to  fix  these  in 
his  mind,  he  had  a  paper  book,  in 
which  he  wrote  down  the  passages 
of  the  Bible  which  appeared  to  him 
most  important  for  his  private  use. 

Miss  Esther  Clifford  and  his  sister 
came  twice  to  see  him,  and  once  he 
was  allowed  to  go  and  spend  a  week 
at  the  parsonage.  This  gave  him 
groat  pleasure,  and  he  was  gratified 
to  see  the  improvement  of  Mary, 
who  was  growing  up  to  be  an  intel- 
ligent ofirl,  under  the  care  of  her  o^ood 
aunt.    But  there  was  one  thing:  which 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  SI 

made  tliem  all  very  anxious.     They 
nad  received  one  letter  from  Captain 
Clifford,  written  soon  after  his  arrival 
at  Marseilles  in  France;  but  several 
months  had  passed  without  their  re- 
ceiving any  news  about  him.     This 
gave  Charles  many  sleepless  hours. 
He  fancied  that  his  dear  father  had 
died  in  a  foreign  country,  and  this 
frequently  made   him  weep,  as   he 
lay  awake  in  his  bed.     But  then  he 
remembered  the  many  precious  pro- 
mises which  God  has  given  to  those 
who  love  him,  and  this  filled  him 
with  peace.     In  particular,  he  often 
used  to  repeat  tohimself  that  precious 
passage  in  the  112th  Psalm,  where  it 
is  said  of  the  believer  :  He  shall  not 
be  afraid  of  evil  tidings;  his. heart  is 


S2  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

/^re^  trusting  m  the  Lord.  And  he 
knew  that  nothing  could  happen  to 
his  friends,  or  to  himself,  without  the 
wise  permission  of  his  heavenly 
Father. 

Let  every  reader  of  this  little  book 
pause,  and  think  how  good  it  is  for 
young  persons  to  love  and  fear  God, 
and  how  much  real  comfort  and 
nappiness  thf  re  is  in  true  religion. 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD  S3 


CHAPTER  VI. 

The  Bible  says,  Seek  ye  first  the 
kingdom  of  God  and  his  righteous- 
ness,  and  all  these  things  shall  be 
added  unto  you.  That  is,  all  earthly 
things  which  are  needful  shall  be 
o^iven  to  those  who  try,  first  of  all 
to  honour  and  please  God.  There 
never  was  a  person  who  really  lost 
any  thing,  in  the  end,  by  being 
truly  relioious.  It  was  so  with 
Charles  Clifford.  Many  persons 
would  be  ready  to  think  that 
Charles  woild  always  be  despised 
and  disliked  by  his  companions. 
And   so    he  was  for    a  time;    but 


84  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

afterwards  tliey  found  how  much 
they  had  been  mistaken.  The  way 
in  which  this  happened  shall  be 
related  in  this  chapter. 

During  the  winter  season  there 
was  no  amusement  of  which  the 
boys  were  so  fond  as  that  of  skating. 
Almost  every  Saturday  afternoon, 
during  the  very  cold  weather,  they 
used  to  spend  in  this  manner. 
Twenty  or  thirty  of  them  would 
sometimes  be  upon  the  ice  at  once, 
and  they  used  to  make  parties  for 
playing  ball  at  the  same  time.  The 
mill-pond  was  so  large,  that  they 
could  go  up  and  dow^n  more  than 
half  a  mile.  There  was  no  one  in 
the  school  who  could  sl^ate  as  well 
as  Charles  Clifford,  and  he  was  very 


CHARLES   CLIFFORD.  85 

bcldj  as  well  as  very  active.  On  a 
certain  day,  when  they  were  play- 
ing ball  "upon  the  ice,  it  so  happened 
that  all  the  skaters  got  together 
upon  a  thin  place,  and  their  weight 
was  such,  that  the  ice  began  to 
crack.  Instantly  there  was  an 
alarm  given,  "  The  ice  is  breaking  ! 
the  ice  is  breaking !"  Those  who 
were  nearest  to  the  outside  of  the 
circle  escaped  as  fast  as  they  could, 
and  almost  all  got  away  before  the 
solid  part  gave  way.  But  one  of 
the  boys,  who  was  more  rash  than 
the  rest,  stayed  too  long;  the  ice 
broke  through,  and  he  immediately 
sank  into  the  water.  It  was  the 
same  boy  who    had  insulted  and 

8 


86  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

struck  Charles  not  many  days  be- 
fore. 

This  is  one  of  the  most  dangerous 
situations  in  which  any  person  can 
be  placed.  For  when  ice  begins  to 
break  in  this  manner,  it  is  exceed- 
ingly dangerous  for  any  one  to  ap- 
proach the  hole  that  is  made,  be- 
cause the  edges  are  usually  so  brittle 
that  they  break  through  with  the 
weight  of  a  human  body.  One  of 
the  best  methods  in  such  a  case  is 
*?o  get  a  long  board,  or  even  a  rail, 
one  end  of  which  may  be  laid  upon 
the  strong  ice,  while  the  person  in 
the  water  can  escape  by  means  of 
the  other  end.  This  is  generally 
known  to  boys  who  skate.  There- 
fore, as  soon  as  the  accident  took 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  87 

place,  Charles,  who  v\^as  nearest  to 
the  spot,  cried  out,  "A  plank — oi 
a  rail ! — quick,  quick — or  he  will  be 
drowned."  The  boys  ran  as  fast  as 
they  could,  but  nothing  of  the  sort 
could  be  found.  Poor  Burke  was 
3ntirely  covered  with  water,  with 
.he  exception  of  his  head.  He  tool- 
hold  of  the  edges  of  the  ice  re- 
peatedly, in  order  to  climb  out,  but 
it  broke  in  pieces  every  time. 

Charles  saw  that  the  lad  w^ould 
De  drowned,  unless  something  could 
be  speedily  done.  He  therefore 
called  upon  the  others  to  help  him. 
"Take  hold  of  my  ankles,"  said  he, 
*^  while  I  creep  near  to  the  place, 
and  let  some  others  take  hold  of 
your     ankles."       Charles     quickly 


SS  CHARLES    CLIFFORD 

threw  himself  on  his  breast  upon 
the  ice,  and  crept  towards  the  place 
where  Burke  had  sunk.  Two  boys 
laid  hold  of  his  feet,  w^hile  all  the 
others  held  fast  to  the  feet  of  tnese 
two  boys.  Thus  a  kind  of  chain 
was  formed. 

'^Hold  fast!"  said  Charles,  as  he 
seized  Burke,  and  drew  him  out. 
This  w^as  not  very  easy,  however, 
and  Charles's  head  and  arms  w^ere 
several  times  under  water.  At 
length  the  poor  dripping  boy  was 
dragged  safely  out,  almost  breath- 
less, and  much  chilled.  As  soon  as 
he  could  speak,  he  stretched  out 
hLS  hand  to  Charles,  and  said : 

•*  Clifford,  you  have  saved  my  life 
I  think  you  from  mj  heart;  and  I 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  89 

ask  your  pardon  before  all  these 
boys  for  the  manner  in  which  1 
have  treated  you.  I  called  you  a 
coward ;  I  take  that  back ;  I  see 
you  are  no  coward." 

Charles  smiled  as  he  took  his 
hand,  saying,  "I  am  glad,  Burke, 
that  you  have  changed  your  opinion 
of  me.  But  I  am  still  more  glad, 
that  I  have  a  chance  to  show  you 
that  I  have  no  spite  against  you, 
and  that  I  am  ready  to  do  you  any 
favour.  I  iearn  in  the  Scriptures, 
that  I  must  love  all  around  me;  and 
it  is  in  the  same  place  tnat  T  learn 
not  to  fight." 

"Well   done,  Clifford!"    shouted 

the   smaller   boys;  "Clifford   is  no 

coward."     And  from  that  time  there 
8* 


90  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

was  no  one  in  the  school  who  was 
more  respected  than  Charles  Boys 
very  easily  change  their  opinions, 
and  some  who  had  ridiculed  him 
most  were  now  the  loudest  in  prais 
ing  him.  No  one  rejoiced  in  this 
change  more  than  Harry  Reynolds ; 
for  he  had  from  the  beorinnino:  re- 
spected  Clifford,  though  he  had  not 
real  courao^e  enouo^h  to  defend  him 
when  he  was  persecuted.  When 
they  were  going  home,  Harry  said, 
*'  Now  I  should  like  to  know,  Clif- 
ford, why  you  should  be  afraid  of  a 
few  blows,  wheit  you  are  willing  to 
risk  so  much  more  in  taking  a 
fellow  out  of  the  water." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Charles,  ''that 
yon  still  think  in  the  old  way.    Is  it 


CHARLES   CLIFFORD.  91 

possible  that  you  believe  there  is  no 
way  of  showing  one's  courage  but 
by  fighting  ?  There  is  many  a  fellow 
who  fights,  and  who  is  a  great  cow- 
ard notwithstanding." 

^^  How  is  that  possible?" 

*'It  is  very  possible,"  said  Charles; 
"  for  some  boys  are  afraid  of  being 
laughed  at;  and  this  is  all  that 
makes  them  fight.  This  is  what  / 
call  cowardice.  It  is  an  easy  thing 
to  take  a  few  knocks,  but  it  is  not  so 
easy  to  bear  the  laugh  and  contempt 
of  the  whole  school." 

''  That  is  very  true,"  replied 
Harry ;  "  and  I  often  used  to  thmk 
that  you  suffered  a  hundred  times 
as  much,  as  if  you  had  let  Burke 
beat  you  soundly." 


92  CHARLES    CLIFFORD 

^*  I  call  it  true  courage,"  said 
Charles,  *'  when  a  person  dares  to 
do  every  thing  that  is  right,  and 
dares  not  do  any  thing  that  is 
Mrong." 

"  I  never  thought  of  that  before," 
said  Harry;  "but  I  believe  you  are 
right." 

When  the  boys  got  home,  Burke 
took  great  pains  to  show  how  much 
he  felt  obliged  to  Charles ;  so  that  in 
a  short  time  the  w^iole  school  looked 
up  to  Chanes,  as  one  of  the  most 
man.y  and  honourable  boys  among 
them. 

This  was  not  the  only  case  in 
which  Charles  Cliiforc  had  an  op- 
portunity of  shewing  his  real  cou- 
rage.    He  was  m  truth  a  fearless 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD  93 

boy,  and  never  shunned  danger^ 
when  it  was  right  for  him  to  face  it. 
There  was  one  thing  which  kept 
him  from  being  timid,  and  that  was 
a  good  consciejice.  No  one  can  be 
really  brave  who  is  afraid  to  think 
about  his  own  soul. 

One  dav,  when  Mr.  Carter  had 
given  a  holiday,  all  tlie  boys  of  the 
school  were  roaming  about  in  differ- 
ent parts  of  the  neighbourhood. 
Some  walked  to  the  bank  of  the 
river,  where  the  ice  was  co minor 
down  in  great  cakes.  Others  were 
huntir.g  for  rabbits  in  the  woods, 
and  a  number  of  them  went  to  the 
mill,  to  slide  upon  the  pond,  and 
amuse  themselves  with  the  boys  of 
tt.e    neio;hbourhood.      It    happened 


94  CHARLES   CLIFFORD. 

that  a  little  lad  had  come  on  horse- 
back to  get  a  bag  of  meal.  The 
horse  was  left  standing  without,  tied 
to  a  post,  while  the  boy  was  in  the 
mill.  Several  of  the  scholars  thought 
it  would  be  a  fine  opportunity  for 
them  to  take  a  ride.  They  therefore 
untied  the  horse,  and  helped  a  lively 
little  boy,  named  Sam  Cutter,  to  get 
upon  his  back.  He  did  not  intend 
to  ride  further  than  to  the  end  of  the 
lane,  but  as  soon  as  he  was  mounted, 
the  boys  set  up  a  shout,  and  Sam  be- 
gan to  whip  the  horse  with  a  switch 
that  was  in  his  hand.  The  horse  be- 
came frightened,  and  ran  with  all  his 
mio^ht.  Poor  little  Sam  was  at  best 
not  much  of  a  horseman,  especially 
when   he  had  no  stirrups.     Away 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  95 

went  the  horse,  and  Sam  cried  again 
and  again,  ''  Help,  help !"  He  caught 
fast  hold  of  the  mane,  and  tried  to 
stop  the  horse,  but  it  was  all  in  vain. 
The  animal  seemed  to  know  that  his 
rider  could  not  manage  him,  and 
very  soon  got  through  the  lane  into 
the  main  road.  Here  there  were  a 
number  of  the  scholars,  at  different 
places,  on  both  sides  of  the  road. 
The  horse  passed  rapidly  between 
them,  but  none  of  them  were  bold 
enough  to  stop  him. 

Charles  Clifford  was  at  that  time 
walkinof  alonor  the  same  road,  and 
saw  the  horse  running  away.  He 
placed  himself  near  the  middle  of 
the  way,  waving  his  hat  so  as  to  stop 
the  horse,  and  as  soon  as  he  came 


96  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

near,  he  leaped  towards  him  and 
seized  his  bridle.  The  horse  gave  a 
strong  jerk,  which  threw  Sam  off, 
and  knocked  Charles  down  in  the 
road  ;  but  then  he  instantly  stopped, 
and  stood  very  quietly.  Sam  was 
more  alarmed  than  hurt,  but  it  was 
a  wonder  that  he  had  not  been  killed 
Charles  led  the  horse  back  to  the 
mill,  and  the  boys  all  collected  there 
very  soon  to  hear  the  whole  story. 
They  were  now  convinced  more  than 
once  that  they  were  very  wrong  in 
thinking  Charles  a  coward,  and  they 
saw  that  a  person  could  be  brave 
without  beinor  willincr  to  fiorht.  As 
they  were  walking  home,  Sam  Cut 
tor  said  to  him  : 

"  Clifford,  we  used  to  think  that 


CHARLES    CL[FFORD  97 

vou  were  a  coward,  but  now  we 
know  you  are  not.  But  then,  you 
know  we  could  not  help  thinkir.g  so, 
because  you  took  all  the  blows  that 
were  given  you  without  ever  strik- 
ing back." 

''O.  is  that  all?"  said  Clifford, 
*'  then  I  am  as  much  a  cow^ard  as 
ever,  for  I  should  act  just  so  again. 
Why  should  I  not  ?  Can  you  give 
me  any  good  reason  why  I  should 
fight  those  who  have  never  injured 
me  ?" 

Sam    hesitated,    ana    then    said, 

"  But  suppose  they  have  injured  you. 

Here  is  Burke,  now ;  you  know  he 

did  injure  you,  and  struck  you,  and 

yet  you  never  gave  him  a  blow." 

"It   would   be  rev^engeful,"  saic 
9 


98  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

Charles,  "  to  return  evil  for  evil,  but 
revenge  is  wrong.  The  Bible  says 
it  is  wrong.  And,  besides,  what 
good  would  it  have  done  me  to  strike 
him  back  ?  Would  it  have  cured 
the  hurt  eye  which  he  gave  me  ?" 

*'  Then  you  were  not  afraid  of 
him,"  said  Sam. 

•'  Afraid  of  me  "  cried  Burke, 
**  no  !  I  am  very  sure  now  that  he 
was  not  afraid  of  me,  and  that  he 
is  strongei  than  I  am.  I  believe 
ClitFord's  plan  is  the  best,  after  all." 

Charles  smiled,  and  said,  ''I  was 
not  afraid  of  you,  Burke,  but  I  will 
tell  you  what  I  was  aft  aid  of;  I  was 
afraid  of  doing  wrong.  Do  you  not 
remember  the  anecdote  of  a  distin- 
guished French  general,  of  whom  it 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  99 

IS  said,  that  on  his  '3eath-bed  he  said 
to  his  children,  Fear  God,  my  child- 
ren, have  no  other  fear.  And  our 
Saviour  said  to  his  disciples,  Fear 
not  them  which  hill  the  body,  hut  ar 
not  able  to  Mil  the  soul,  but  rather 
fear  him  which  is  able  to  destroy  both 
soul  and  body  in  hell. 

When  the  boys  found  that  Charles 
was  beginning  to  talk  about  the  Bi- 
ble, they  were  silent,  for  most  world- 
ly persons  do  not  like  to  hear  con- 
versation upon  religious  subjects; 
and  this  is  a  proof  of  the  opposition 
of  the  heart  to  God  and  divine 
things.  But  Charles  continued  to 
give  them  good  advice,  and  he  said 
some  thing^s  which  made  a  number 
of  them  look  very  serious.     Indeed, 


IdO  CHARLES    CLIFF(;iiD 

he  tried  every  day  to  lead  his  ac- 
quaintances to  think  about  good 
things;  and  the  boys  had  so  much 
regard  for  him,  that  none  of  them 
would  use  any  bad  language  where 
he  was.  Several  of  those  who  used 
to  swear,  gave  it  up  entirely.  Three 
of  the  larger  boys  agreed  to  go  and 
try  to  be  teachers  in  the  Sunday- 
school.  He  found  no  difficulty  now 
in  getting  the  little  fellows  who 
lodged  in  the  room  with  him  to  read 
several  chapters  in  the  Bible  every 
day.  And  all  this  made  Charles 
Clifford  a  happy  boy.  He  found  out 
in  this  way,  hov^  much  better  it  wa 
for  him  that  he  had  not  yielded  to 
temptation ;  even  though  he  had 
suffered  for  a  time. 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  10 1 

Thus  we  see  that  the  true  charac- 
ter of  a  conscientious  boy  will  be 
found  out  sooner  or  later,  and  that 
the  Lord  will  raise  up  friends  for 
those  who  serve  him.  If  a  mans 
ways  please  the  Lord,  he  will  cause 
even  his  eiiemies  to  he  at  peace  n  iih 
him. 


ft* 


102  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

While  we  are  in  this  world,  w 
must  expect  to  have  afflictions 
Therefore  the  Scripture  says,  Many 
are  the  afflictions  of  the  righteous ,  hut 
the  Lord  delivereth  him  out  of  them 
all.  Charles  Clifford  knew  this,  and 
often  used  to  pray  that  he  might  be 
prepared  for  whatever  his  heavenly 
Father  chose  to  lay  upon  him.  He 
had  already  had  seme  trials.  It  was 
a  trial  for  him  to  part  with  his  affec- 
tionate father,  and  also  that  he  should 
be  so  long  without  hearing  any  thing 
from  him.  Sometimes  he  used  to 
feel  almost  sure  that  his  father  was 


CHARLES    C1.1FF<»RD  103 

dead.    And  the  only  comfort  he  had 
at  such  hours  was  in  casting  his  cares 
upon  the  Lord.     It  was  not  long 
before  a  severe  affliction  really  cam 
upon  him. 

When  the  spring  began  to  open, 
Mr.  Carter  determined  to  take  some 
of  the  larger  boys  with  him,  on  an 
excursion  upon  the  river.  They 
chose  a  fine  warm  morning  in  March, 
and  engaged  a  sail-boat.  They  had 
their  fishing-rods,  and  baskets  of 
provision,  and  set  off  in  high  spirits 
The  river  Delaware  is  quite  wide  at 
this  place,  and  deep  enough  for  large 
vessels.  And  at  this  time  it  looked 
somewhat  rough,  for  the  wind  seemed 
to  be  rising.  Still, Mr. Carter  thought 
the'  mio^ht  safely  venture  out,  espe- 


104  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

CI  ally  as  the  man  who  owned  the 
boat  went  with  them. 

For  some  time  their  little  voyage 
was  very  pleasant,  and  the  scholars 
were  delighted  with  every  thing  they 
saw.  At  last,  however,  the  wind 
rose  so  much  that  the  boys  could 
scarcely  sit  upright  m  the  boat;  and 
as  they  did  not  take  care  to  preserve 
the  proper  balance,  there  came  a 
squall  of  wind,  which  turned  the 
boat  suddenly  over.  It  was  a  mercy 
that  they  were  not  drowned  ;  but  it 
so  happened  that  they  were  near  the 
shore,  where  the  av  ater  was  not  very 
deep.  They  w^cre  all  soaking  with 
w^ater,  and  had  to  ride  home  in  their 
wet  clothes. 

The  next  day,  when  Charles  came 


CHA.RLES    CLIFFORD  105 

ap  to  say  his  lesson,  the  tutor  ob- 
served that  he  seemed  to  shiver,  and 
said  to  him, 

*'  Are  you  cold,  Charles?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  he,  "  I  am  afraid 
I  have  a  chill." 

The  tutor  sent  him  to  the  fire,  but 
he  continued  to  be  so  cold,  that  at 
last  it  v^as  thought  proper  that  he 
should  go  to  bed.  After  a  while  the 
chill  ceased,  and  he  became  very  hot 
and  thirstj.  His  cheeks  were  ex- 
ceedingly ted,  and  he  complained  of 
pain  in  his  temples.  The  truth  was, 
he  was  seized  with  a  fever  in  conse- 
quence of  the  wetting  which  he  had 
got  the  day  before. 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Carter  perceived 
that  Charles  was  really  ill,  he  had 


106  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

him  removed  to  a  chamber  in  ins 
own  house,  where  he  would  not  be 
exposed  to  the  noise,  and  where  Mrs. 
Carter  might  attend  upon  him. 

His  fever  rose  so  much  that  they 
thought  it  proper  to  send  for  Doctor 
Dobson  in  the  night.  After  bleed- 
ing, he  felt  better  for  a  time,  and  the 
physician  left  medicines  to  be  taken 
during  the  night. 

Charles  knew  that  he  was  very  ill, 
and  he  tried  all  the  time  to  be  lifting 
up  his  heart  to  God,  and  praying  for 
grace  to  help  him  in  this  time  of 
need.  For  a  time  he  was  alarmed, 
as  most  young  persons  are  when 
they  are  sick;  bat  then  he  remem- 
bered the  promises  in  the  Bible,  and 
felt  sure  that  the  Lord  would  take  carp 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  107 

of  him  He  thought  of  that  verse  in 
tlie  forty-first  Psalm :  The  Lord  7ViU 
strengtlien  Mm  upon  the  bed  of  lan- 
guishing ;  thou  wilt  make  all  his  bed 
in  his  sickness ;  and  this  gave  him 
much  comtort. 

The  boys  of  the  school  were  very 
much  concerned  when  they  knew  he 
was  sick,  for  all  of  them  now  respect- 
ed him.  Several  of  them  used  to 
attend  upon  him;  and  as  he  got 
worse,  rather  than  better,  Burke,  and 
Cutter,  and  Reynolds  sat  up  with 
him  several  nights.  As  he  lay  awake 
one  night  in  great  pain,  the  thought 
came  into  his  head  that  he  might 
perhaps  do  some  good  to  his  young 
schoolfellows.  He  therefore  called 
to  Burke,  and  said, 


08  CHARLES    CLIFFOHD. 

"  I  wish  you  would  bring  youi 
cliair  near  my  bed,  for  I  wish  to  talk 
with  yon."  When  Burke  came 
near,  he  asked,  "Do  you  not  see  that 
1  am  very  sick?" 

Burke.  Yes,  Clifford,  I  am  sorry 
to  see  you  suffer  so  much,  but  I  hope 
vou  will  be  better  in  a  few  days. 

Charles.  Ah,  Burke,  life  is  very 
ancertain,  and  I  feel  that  I  am  much 
worse  than  I  was.     I  befjm  to  think 
t  very  likely  that  I  shall  die. 

Burke.  O !  do  not  talk  in  that  way. 
I  hope  you  are  not  so  ill  as  that. 

Charles.  I  do  not  wish  you  ln 
think  that  I  am  afraid  to  die.  1 
thank  God  that  I  am  not.  I  think  1 
put  my  trust  in  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  and  1  have  a  strong  hope  tha 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  x09 

if  I  die  I  shall  be  forever  happy. 
Now,  would  you  not  be  alarmed  \\ 
vou  thought  your  death  was  near  ? 

Burke.  Yes,  indeed  I  should.  I 
confess  I  have  a  great  fear  of  death, 
and  whenever  I  am  sick,  it  alarms 
me  v^ery  much. 

Charles.  Yet  you  are  not  sure  of 
life  for  a  single  day.  O,  my  friend, 
it  is  high  time  for  you  to  think  of 
these  things.  Do  you  ever  consider 
what  would,  become  of  you,  if  you 
should  die  ? 

Burke.  Why,  to  tell  the  truth, 
Clifford,  I  have  not  attended  to  reli- 
gion as  much  as  1  ought. 

Charles.    I  beg  you  to  begin  now 
I  am  afraid  you  never  pray,    i  never 
see  you  reading  your  Bible.  1  entreat 
10 


110  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

yon  to  think  more   about  the  con 
corns  of  your  soul.     Now  promise 
me   that   you   will   seriously    think 
about  what  I  have  said. 

This  conversation  made  Burke 
feel  very  sober,  and  he  promised 
Clifford  that  he  would  attend  to  the 
subject  in  earnest.  Charles  also  re- 
quested that  in  the  morning  there 
should  be  a  messenger  sent  to  Mrs. 
Lee,  to  inform  his  aunt  of  his  ill- 
ness. 

The  reader  will  remember  that 
after  the  departure  of  Captain  Clif- 
ford, Miss  Esther  took  little  Mary 
to  the  parsonage.  Here  she  spent 
her  time  principally  in  giving  in- 
struction to  her  niece.  They  were 
very  happy  in  Mr.  Lee's  family,  and 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  1  I  I 

Mrs.  Lee  and  her  two  daughters  did 
every  thing  in  their  power  to  make 
them  comfortable.  Miss  Clifford 
was  very  fond  of  the  garden,  and 
used  to  take  Mary  out  often  to  ex 
amine  the  different  sorts  of  plants, 
as  they  came  up  in  the  spring.  On 
a  fine  mornins^,  all  the  ladies  of  the 
family  were  'out  in  the  garden,  and 
Miss  Clifford  was  explaining  to 
Mary  the  nature  of  some  flowers 
which  they  saw  there.  Mary  was 
very  much  pleased  with  the  flower, 
because  she  said  her  brother  Charles 
used  to  be  fond  of  the  same.  This 
put  her  in  mind  of  Charles,  and  she 
began  to  talk  of  him. 

"  O,"  said  she,  ''  how  I  do  wish  to 
see  mv  dear  brother  Charles !" 


112  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

Just  then  a  servant  came  to  say 
that  there  was  a  man  on  horseback, 
at  the  gate,  who  washed  to  speaK 
with  Miss  CUfford.  The  man  had 
a  note  from  Mr.  Carter,  which  in 
formed  her  of  Charles'  ilhiess,  and 
requested  that  she  would  come  to 
his  house  as  soon  as  possible.  She 
carried  the  note  immediately  to  Mr. 
Lee,  and  he  said  that  he  would  ac- 
company her  in  the  course  of  an 
hour.  There  was  great  sorrow  in 
the  whole  family,  and  even  old  Mr. 
Carter,  who  was  now  unable  to  leave 
his  bed,  spoke  of  Charles,  and  said 
that  he  remembered  the  little  bov 
who  used  to  sit  on  his  knee,  and  ask 
questions. 

It  was  long  before  the  carriage 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  1  K5 

was  ready,  and  early  in  the  after- 
noon, Mr.  Lee,  Miss  Clifford,  and 
Mary  arrived  at  the  academy.  Mr. 
Carter  received  them  very  kindly 
Dut  said  that  it  would  not  be  right 
for  them  to  see  Charles  at  that  time, 
for  his  fever  was  very  high,  and  it 
would  injure  him  to  be  agitated  by 
the  sight  of  his  friends.  He  told 
them  plainly  that  he  thought  Charles 
was  very  ill.  This  made  little  Mary 
burst  into  tears,  and  all  of  them  were 
much  grieved.  Mr.  Lee  was  the 
first  who  w^as  permitted  to  go  into 
the  room.  The  windows  were  dark 
ened,  and  every  thing  was  still  and 
solemn. 

Charles  lay  very  quiet  in  his  bed 
except  when  he  would  occasionaLj 


114  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

sigh  fiom  pain.     Mr.  Lee  went  ap 
10  him,  and  said, 

*'  My  dear  Charles,  I  have  come 
to  see  you ;  but  you  are  too  weak  to 
talk  much,  and  so  you  must  say  very 
little." 

"  O,  sir,"  said  Charles,  ''I  am 
very,  very  glad  to  see  you.  I  am 
ill  indeed,  and  I  wish  you  to  talk  to 
me." 

"  I  hope  you  are  at  peace  in  your 
mind,  mv  dear  Charles." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  think  I  ought  to  be 
very  thankful.  I  know  that  my  .ife 
■s  in  danger,  but  I  am  not  afraid.  I 
have  put  my  trust  in  the  Lord." 

"  But  have  you  not  been  a  sinner 
Charles?" 

''  Yes,  sir,  a  great  sinner;  but  the 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  115 

blood  o^  Jesus  Christ  cleanse th  from 
all  sin.  And  I  hope  God  will  pardon 
me,  and  accept  of  me  for  the  sake  of 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 

"  I  rejoice  to  hear  you  say  so,"  said 
Mr.  Lee ;  "  you  cannot  trust  too 
much  in  the  Saviour.  But  are  you 
not  anxious  to  o^et  well?" 

''  Sometimes  I  greatly  desire  to 
recover,  especially  to  see  my  dear 
father  once  more ;  but  I  think  I  feel 
willing  that  the  Lord  should  do  with 
me  just  as  he  pleases.  I  am  sure  it 
would  Ije  a  great  deal  better  for  me 
to  be  in  heaven  than  to  be  here." 

"  Now,  my  son,  you  must  not 
speak  any  more.  I  have  often  been 
pleased  to  see  that  you  remember 
your  Creator,  and  I  trust  you  are  the 


116  CHARLES    (.LIFFORD. 

Lord's  child.  Now,  whom  the  Lord 
loveth  he  chasteneth,  and  scourgeth 
every  son  whom  he  receiveth.  These 
afflictions  are  intended  for  youi 
good.  I  hope  you  will  recover,  and 
that  this  will  be  for  your  good  as 
long  as  you  live." 

"1  hope,  sir,"  said  Charles,  ^'that 
you  wdll  pray  with  me  before  you 

go." 

*'  Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Lee;  ''but 
what  do  you  wish  me  to  pray  for  ?" 

"  Pray  that  I  may  be  resigned  to 
the  w^ill  of  the  Lord,  and  that  my 
affliction  may  do  me  good.  And 
pray  that  I  may  be  prepared  to  die, 
if  it  is  the  will  of  God." 

Mr.  Lee  knelt  down  and  offered 
up  a  prayer,  and  then  rose  up  softly 


CHAKLES    CLIFFORD.  117 

and  went  out  of  the  room.  Charles 
was  so  greatly  comforted  bj  this, 
and  by  the  sweet  thoughts  which 
filled  his  mind,  that  it  seemed  to  him 
that  he  was  happier  on  his  bed  of 
sickness  than  he  had  ever  been  while 
he  was  in  health. 

The  next  morning  he  was  allowed 
to  see  his  aunt  and  sister  for  a  very 
few  minutes ;  but  it  was  almost  too 
much  for  him.     Yet  he  seemed  to 
get  better  from  the  time  that  these 
good  friends  came  to  see  him ;  so  that 
the  doctor  very  soon  pronounced  him 
to  be  out  of  danger.     Miss  Esther 
and  Mary  Clifford  remained  at  Mr. 
Carter's  until  Charles  was  able  to 
ride  out,  and  Mr.  Lee  came  every 
tew  daj  s  t:>  visit  hin  .     As  soon  as 


118  CHARLES    CL.FFORD. 

ne  gained  sufficient  strength,  the}? 
removed  him  to  the  parsonage,  ^\here 
he  rapidly  amended.  But  it  was 
many  weeks  before  he  was  entire!)' 
well,  and  it  was  sorrowful  to  see  the 
poor  fellow  walking  feebly  about  the 
house,  thin  and  pale,  and  scarcely 
stronor  enoiiofh  to  lift  a  chair  from 
the  floor. 

Charles  used  to  say,  however,  that 
it  was  good  for  him  that  he  had  been 
afflicted,  and  that  he  had  learned 
raore  during  his  sickness  about  the 
comforts  of  religion,  than  he  ever 
knew  before.  The  conversation  of 
Mr.  Lee  was  very  pleasant  and  use- 
ful to  him.  and  he  was  deliohted  to 
have  once  more  the  company  of  his 
aunt  and  sister.     Still,  nothino^  was 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  US 

heard  from  Captain  Clifford,  and 
none  of  them  could  avoid  feelinsf 
very  gloomy  at  times  on  account  of 
this.  There  was  a  war  ooinor  on  in 
Europe  at  this  time,  and  they  used 
to  fear  that  he  had  fallen  into  the 
hands  of  enemies.  But  old  Mr. 
Carter,  who  had  been  much  in  Eu- 
rope, told  them  that  in  time  of  war 
a  great  many  things  might  happen 
to  prevent  the  sending  of  letters,  even 
though  Captain  Clifford  should  be 
well  and  happy. 

At  leno^th  Charles  entirelv  reco- 
V'ered  his  health  and  strength.  In- 
deed, it  seemed  to  his  friends  that  he 
looked  more  fresh  and  robust  than 
he  had  done  before.     So  that  every 


120  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

thing  that  happened  to  him  appeared 
to  be  kindly  ordered  for  the  best,  by 
an  all -wise  Providence 


rilARLES    CLIFFORD.  ]2\ 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

By   the  time    that  the    summer 
weather   had   fairly    come,   Charles 
Clifford  felt  ready  to  return  to  his 
studies.     But  then  the  summer  holi- 
days came  round,  and  so  he  had  to 
wait  a  month  longer.     Harry  Hey 
nolds  had  been  several  times  to  see 
him,  and  begged  that  he  would  go 
with  him  to  his  father's  house,  in 
Philadelphia,  for  a  few  weeks.     And 
one  morning  Charles  looked  out  of 
the  windpw,  and  saw  Mr.  Reynolds 
carriage  standing  there.     His  friend 
Harry  jumped  out,  ran  into  XY  e  par 
11 


.22  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

sonage,  and  without  waiting  to  speak 
to  any  one  else,  said, 

"  Now,  Clifford,  father  has  sent 
the  carriage  for  jou,  and  you  cannot 
refuse." 

"  I  should  like  to  go  very  well," 
said  Charles  ;  '^  but  I  am  under  Mr, 
Lee's  care,  and  you  must  apply  to 
him." 

Harry  went  into  Mr.  Lee's  study, 
and  asked  him  very  respectfully  if 
he  would  permit  Charles  to  pay  him 
a  visit.  He  also  showed  a  note  from 
his  father,  expressing  a  strong  desire 
that  Charles  should  spend  a  few 
weeks  with  them  in  Philadelphiao 
M^.  Lee  at  once  consented,  and  said 
that  if  Harry  would  stay  there  that 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  123 

day,  Charles  should  be  ready  to  set 
off  very  early  the  next  morning 
But  before  Charles  could  consent  to 
go  away,  he  thought  it  proper  to 
take  a  ride  to  Riverbank,  in  ordtjr  to 
see  the  oid  servants.  He  went  alone, 
and  on  horseback,  and  took  a  few 
presents  with  him. 

When  he  came   ii\   sight   of  the 
house  where  he  was  born,  the  tears 
came   into   his   eyes.     A   thousand 
things  rushed  into  his  mind,  which 
he  had  forgotten  for  years.     There 
was   the   lawn   on   w^hich    he    had 
amused  himself  so  often ;  there  was 
the  garden  full  of  a  hundred  beauti 
ful  plants;  for  the  gardener  aad  hn 
family  occupied  the  kitchen  at  E 


1-24  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

verbank.  There  was  the  beautiful 
river  flowing  aloncr,  as  bri^^ht  and 
rapid  as  ever,  and  the  rows  of  arch- 
ing elms  above  the  avenue.  As  he 
drew  near  his  father's  grounds,  he 
stopped  by  the  side  of  a  hedge  to 
take  a  better  look.  He  cast  his  eyes 
down,  and  saw  a  rabbit  and  a  phea- 
sant lying  dead  at  the  root  of  a  tree. 
He  could  not  help  feeling  a  sort  of 
attachment  even  to  the  little  animals 
v^hich  had  lived  at  Riverbank,  and 
it  seemed  a  pity  that  they  should  be 
shot.  But  these  thoughts  soon  pass- 
ed away,  and  he  began  to  look  round 
to  see  who  the  sportsman  was ;  for 
he  knew  it  w-as  likely  that  some  of 
his  father's  friends   were   shooting 


CHAKLES    CLIFFORD.  125 

there.     Just  then  he  cast   his   eyes 

ver  into  the  meadow,  and  spied  his 

Id  friend  Roger  the  gardener,  with 

his  dog   Ponto,  and   his  gun,  just 

ready  to  shoot.     Charles  waited  til] 

he  had  fired,  and  then  called  to  him. 

"Why,    Master    Charles!"    said 

Roger,  "  it  does  my  old  eyes  good  to 

see  you ;  why,  how  you  have  grown ! 

And  how  well  you  ride  that  spirited 

horse  !  You  are  almost  a  man  now. 

And  when  did  you  hear  from  your 

good   father?      How   glad   my   old 

woman  will  be  to  see  you!" 

Thus  the   old   man   ran   on,  not 

waiting  for  an  answer,  until  Charles 

began  to  inquire  about  his  old  nurse, 

who  was  the  gardener's  wife.   Roger 
11» 


126  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

called  his  little  grandson  Tom,  who, 
ne  said,  was  now  a  ferryman,  and 
Charles  gave  the  boy  a  shawl  for  his 
grandmother,  and  sent  her  a  kind 
message.  Then  they  walked  over 
the  fields  and  meadows,  and  down  to 
Riverbank.  Roger  took  him  into 
the  garden,  and  showed  him  trees 
which  he  had  planted  with  his  own 
little  hands.  Then  they  went  into 
the  house,  and  Charles  entered  every 
room.  All  was  clean,  and  neatly 
kept ;  but  it  was  very  gloomy.  The 
beautiful  rows  of  fine  books  in  the 
library  gave  him  more  pain  than 
pleasure,  because  they  reminded  him 
of  his  absent  father.  And  when  ho 
went  into  the  study,  where  he  liad 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  127 

taken  so  many  delightful  lessons, 
sitting  on  his  father's  knee,  he  was 
quite  overcome.  He  sent  Roger 
away,  and  took  this  opportunity  to 
kneel  down  in  the  silent  room,  and 
pour  out  a  heartfelt  prayer  to  God, 
for  his  beloved  parent.  After  this  he 
again  strolled  through  the  grounds. 

When  the  gardener's  grandson 
took  the  shawl  which  Charles  had 
sent  to  the  old  nurse,  she  was  more 
delighted  than  she  knew  how  to  ex- 
press. 

"It  is  very  kind  in  Master 
Charles,"  said  she,  ''  to  think  of  his 
old  nurse;  and  I  hope  the  Lord  will 
reward  him." 

Charles  saw  all  the  old   servants 


128  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

who  remained,  and  then  found  it  so 
late  that  he  had  to  hasten  back  to 
the  parsonage,  in  order  to  be  ready 
for  his  visit  to  Philadelphia. 

The  next  day  the  young  gentle- 
men set  off  on  their  little  journey, 
and  arrived  at  Mr.  Reynolds'  in  the 
evening.  Mr.  Reynolds  and  his 
whole  family  gave  Charles  a  cordial 
welcome.  He  was  surprised  to  see 
the  splendour  of  every  thing  about 
tlie  house,  and  began  to  think  thai 
they  must  be  very  rich  people.  Aftei 
a  good  night's  rest-  he  arose  full  of 
curiosity  to  see  the  great  city. 

When  he  came  down-stairs  in  the 
morning,  he  found  every  thing  pre- 
pared which  he  w^ould  wash  to  make 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  129 

liim  comfortable.  But  it  astonished 
him  to  see  that  there  was  no  reading 
of  the  Bible,  and  no  family  prayers. 
And  when  they  sat  down  to  break- 
fast there  was  no  blessing  asked 
upon  their  food,  and  no  thanks  re- 
turned afterwards.  Charles  perceiv- 
ed that  he  had  come  into  a  family 
where  religion  did  not  govern.  He 
therefore  expected  temptations,  and 
beo^an  to  be  much  on  his  o^uard.  "  I 
must  take  care,"  thought  he,  "  how 
I  behave,  for  they  will  judge  of  re- 
ligion very  much  by  my  example." 
Harry  had  told  them  that  Charles 
had  some  odd  notions  about  religioUj 
but  Mrs.  Reynolds  said, 

'•  Never  nahid,  he  has  not  seen  the 


130  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

world  yet,  and  we  shall  soon  laugh 
him  out  of  that." 

It  is  not  necessary  here  to  set 
down  how  many  days  were  spent 
by  Charles  in  seeing  all  the  curiosi- 
ties and  wonders  of  Philadelphia. 
The  family  of  Mr.  Reynolds  were 
all  ready  to  show  him  every  thing 
that  was  to  be  seen,  and  for  more 
than  a  week  the  carriage  was  going 
almost  every  day.  The  very  streets 
and  buildings,  the  walks  and  public 
squares,  were  new  and  beautiful  in 
Charles'  eyes.  And  when  he  walk- 
ed out  at  night,  the  brilliant  win- 
dows of  the  tradesmen  and  the  long 
rows  of  .amps  seemed  to  him  quite 
a  show.      He   went  to   see   all   the 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  131 

great  public  buildings,  and  also  ex- 
amined the  various  manufactories. 
He  went  on  board  of  the  packet  ships 
which  go  to  England,  and  also  the 
large  vessels  of  war  at  the  Navy 
yard. 

When  they  had  surveyed  all 
these  things,  they  spent  a  day  or 
two  in  looking  at  the  curiosities  in 
the  Museum,  and  the  paintings  of 
the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts.  They 
also  rode  out  to  the  Water-works  at 
Fairmount,  and  enjoyed  the  lovely 
prospects  in  that  neighbourhood. 
And  they  visited  the  various  public 
gardens  ana  green-houses,  the  Asy- 
lum for  the  Deaf  and  Dumb,  the 
House  of  Refuge,  and  the  Prisons. 


132  CrlARLES    CLIFFORD, 

But  it  would  be  tedious  for  me  to 
mention  the  various  objects  which 
he  went  to  see,  especially  as  I 
cannot  stop  to  describe  them  all. 
Charles  was  truly  glad  that  he  had 
come  to  the  city,  for  he  found  that 
he  learned  more  by  actual  sight 
than  he  would  have  got  by  descrip- 
tion in  years. 

There  was  one  thing,  however, 
which  took  away  a  great  deal  from 
the  pleasure  which  Charles  might 
otherwise  have  enjoyed,  and  that 
was  the  appearance  of  carelessness 
and  irreligion  among  all  this  family. 
Charles  did  not  see  any  thing  while 
he  was  there  to  show  him  that  they 
were   not  heathens,   or  Mohamme- 


CHVRLES    CLIFFORD.  L33 

dans.  There  were  no  prayers,  no 
religious  conversation,  and  all  .he 
irne  he  was  there  he  did  not  see  a 
Bible,  except  his  own.  Mr.  Rey- 
nolds was  a  kind,  generous  man, 
but  he  was  devoted  to  his  riches, 
and  very  often  took  the  name  of 
God  in  vain.  The  young  ladies 
appeared  to  think  of  nothing  but 
balls,  and  parties,  and  plays;  and 
they  wondered  that  Charles  should 
take  so  little  pleasure  in  what  de- 
li<2:hted  them  so  much. 

On  the  first  Lord's-day  after 
Charles  came,  Mr.  Reynolds  gave  a 
large  dinner  party  ;  and  as  a  com- 
pliment to  Charles,,  he  invited  the 
sons  of  several  of  the  gentlemen  to 
2 


134  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

accompany  them.  This  greatlj 
distressed  the  person  whom  Mr. 
Reynolds  meant  to  please.  He  had 
been  accustomed  to  consider  the 
Sabbath  as  a  sacred  day,  and  had 
never  used  it  either  for  labour  or 
amusement.  Yet  he  did  not  think 
it  would  be  right  for  him  to  stay 
awa}  entirely  from  the  company, 
lest  they  should  charge  his  conduct 
to  wrong  motives.  He  behaved 
quietly  and  politely  at  the  dinner 
table,  and  as  soon  as  he  could, 
slipped  away  and  went  to  church, 
where  he  heard  an  instructive  ser- 
mon. And,  O !  how  much  happier 
he  felt,  sitting  in  an  obscure  corner 
of  a  strange  church  among  a  num 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  i35 

ber  of  poor  people,  than  at  Mr 
Reynolds'  rich  entertainment,  where 
he  saw  that  they  were  profaning 
the  Lord's-day  by  idle  merriment 
When  he  returned,  the  family  all 
endeavoured  to  ridicule  his  precise 
notions;  but  tliey  found  that  he 
was  not  to  be  changed  by  ridicule, 
and  that  it  was  not  so  easy  as  they 
thought  to  answer  his  reasons. 

Charles  w^ent  once  with  them  to 
the  theatre,  but  he  declared  that  he 
would  never  go  again. 

"  O  !"  said  Miss  Lucy  Reynolds. 
"  do  you  not  know  that  the  theatre 
is  a  school  of  morals  V^ 

''  I  know,"  said  Charles,  •'  that  it 
^s  a  school  of  met ^^ 


136  CHARLES    CLlFFORi> 

''  0  shocking  !  Mr.  Clifford,  how 
can  you  think  so?" 

**  Because,  when  I  was  there  last 
night,  I  heard  things  said  upon  the 
s1age  which  I  would  not  suffer  any 
one  to  say  in  this  drawing-room. 
And  I  heard  the  sacred  name  of 
God  taken  in  vain  many  times.  I 
also  saw  among  the  audience,  ^be- 
haviour which  convinced  me  that 
it  was  not  a  proper  place  for  a  moral 
person." 

In  the  same  way  Charles  argued 
against  the  card-parties  v/hich  they 
used  to  have  at  Mr.  Reynolds' 
house.  They  endeavoured  to  per- 
suade him  to  play,  })ut  he  would 
not      He  toM  them  plainly  that  he 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  137 

thouo^ht  it  was  v  rons^ ;  that  it  led  to 
gambling,  and  tiiat  he  knew  ht 
should  displease  God  oy  joining 
with  them.  At  last  they  ceased  tc 
argue  with  him  any  longer,  saying 
that  he  was  so  obstinate  and  precise 
It  was  in  vain  to  reason  witii  him 
Charles  replied, 

"  I  am  very  willing  that  yoT3 
should  reason  with  me ;  I  am  sure  ] 
wish  to  do  whatever  is  reasonable." 

Mrs.  Reynolds.  Yes,  but  you  are 
so  perverse  and  old-fashioned.  Youi 
notions  would  make  us  all  as 
solemn  and  dull  as  a  parcel  of 
monks. 

Charles      I  do    not    know    how 
solemn  moriks  may  be;    luit  1  am 
12* 


138  CI  ARLES    CLIFFORD. 

not  for  dulness.  And  I  appeal  to 
you  all,  whether  my  spirits  are  not 
as  good  as  those  of  any  one  here.  I 
may  be  old-fashioned,  for  I  make  it 
a  rule  to  follow  a  very  old  book 
called  the  Bible,  which  I  fear  is  not 
much  in  fashion. 

Miss  Lucij.  But,  Master  Charles, 
where  does  the  Bible  say  that  it  is 
wrong  to  go  to  the  theatre,  and  to 
attend  balls,  and  to  play  cards  ? 

Charles.  The  Bible  everywhere 
teaches  me  that  vain  and  idle  words 
and  actions  are  wTong.  It  tells  us 
that  whether  we  eat  or  drink,  or 
whatever  we  do.  w^e  ought  to  do  all 
to  the  glory  of  God.  Now,  I  do  not 
think  we  can  do  any  of  these  things 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  139 

to  the  glory  of  God.  And  when  we 
aL  come  to  die,  it  will  give  us  very 
little  pleasure  to  look  back,  and 
think  how  much  wx  have  danced, 
and  played  cards,  and  listened  to 
idle  plays  at  the  theatre. 

Mrs.  R.  O,  sir !  If  you  are  be- 
ginning to  preach  about  death,  and. 
so  forth,  we  shall  change  the  conver- 
sation. 

Charles.  I  ask  your  pardon,  ma 
dam,  if  I  have  said  any  thing  to  of- 
fend you;  but  as  we  all  have  to  die, 
and  that  before  a  great  while,  I 
thouo^ht  there  miorht  be  no  harm  in 
sometimes  thinking  about  it. 

Miss  L  It  is  bad  enough,  indeed, 
to  talk  in  this  way.     Why,  if  I  let 


140  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

myself  think  much  about  ;'ach  hor 
rible  things,  I  should  be  air  aid  to  go 
into  a  dark  room,  or  to  be  alone.     It 
is  enough  to  make  one  melanchol}? 

Charles.  I  think  very  often  of 
these  horrible  things,  as  you  call 
them,  but  I  am  not  afraid  to  be  alone, 
neither  am  I  melancholy.  And, 
Miss  Lucy,  we  must  think  o\  these 
things  some  time  or  other,  if  we-  are 
ever  prepared  to  die. 

Mrs.  R.  Pshaw  !  Are  we  not  told 
that  God  is  merciful?  It  is  time 
enough  yet.  When  we  are  taken 
sick,  we  may  call  to  God  for  mercy. 

Charles.  Ah,  madam,  very  often 
people  die  who  have  no  time  to  call 
for  mercy.     It  is  true,  God  is  merci 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  Ml 

rul,  and  he  shows  his  mercy  in  spar- 
ing us  so  long,  and  giving  us  so 
marj  opportunities.  But  if  we 
neglect  them  all,  it  will  be  very  just 
m  him  to  cut  us  off  suddenly. 

Mrs.  R.  Now  let  us  stop.  For,  to 
tell  the  truth,  I  am  not  pleased  with 
this  canting  way  of  talking. 

So  they  changed  the  subject ;  but 
Charles  felt  that  he  had  done  what 
his  conscience  directed,  by  talking 
in  this  sincere  manner.  And  it  was 
wise  for  him  to  do  so,  on  another 
account.  For  if  he  had  not  given 
the  real  reason  why  he  did  not  join 
them  in  their  worldly  amusements, 
but  had  stated  some  other  cause, 
they  ndght  ha\  e  removed  this  Cduse, 


142  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

and  then  he  would  have  had  nothing 
to  say.  Many  young  persons  are 
ashamed  to  say  that  they  are  kept 
from  dancing  or  card-playing  by  the 
fear  of  God;  they  make  other  ex 
cuses  for  not  joining  their  giddy 
friends ;  and  thus  they  are  either  led 
into  temptation,  or  very  much  mor- 
tified in  the  end  The  proper  way 
in  such  a  case,  when  we  are  tempted 
to  do  wrong,  is  to  tell  the  truth,  the 
whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the 
truth. 

In  the  midst  of  all  these  things, 
every  one  of  the  family  aJmiied 
Charles  for  his  manly  frankness  and 
sincerity.  They  saw  that  he  was 
conscientious,     and     that     nothing 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  143 

would  tempt  him  to  do  what  he 
thought  wrong.  They  also  saw  that 
he  was  happy ;  indeed,  that  he  w^as 
much  more  uniformly  cheerful  than 
any  of  them;  and  sometimes  they 
could  not  help  thinkinor  that  it  would 
be  better  for  them  all  if  they  thought 
just  as  Charles  Clifford  did. 

bat  the  holidays  were  drawmp' 
near  their  close,  and  the  boys  set  off 
several  days  before  they  ended,  to 
spend  a  short  time  at  the  parsonage. 
After  w^hich  they  went  on  to  the 
academy,  and  engaged  once  more  in 
their  studies. 


144  CHARLES    CLIlfOKD. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

The  whole  care  of  Charles  Clif- 
ford's education  was  committed  to 
Mr.  Lee.  He  had  examined  his 
young  friend,  to  discover  how  much 
he  had  learned,  and  was  persuaded 
that  it  would  be  proper  to  remove 
liira  from  Mr.  Carter's  academy  at 
the  end  of  the  year. 

When  Charles  returned,  there  was 
a  general  jo}^  in  the  whole  school. 
Every  one  was  glad  to  see  him  so 
ruddy  and  strong.  And  both  teachers 
and  scholars  were  pleased  at  the  re- 
turn of  the  best  boy  in  the  school.  As 


^IllJIJik^l^ 


'^ir^it;:^     t'''^t^<->.  '.(^&'^'r?r-'^^^^'?S''-i<»r^  •s'^^^.-^^l?^^ 


140 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  147 

for  Charles  himself,  he  also  was  gra- 
tified to  get  back  to  a  place  where 
he  might  improve  in  learning.  He 
was  still  industrious  and  benevolent, 
constantly  endeavouring  to  make 
those  around  him  happy. 

As  he  was  walking  out  one  day 
in  Mr.  Carter's  garden,  he  heard  an 
exclamation  of  distress  from  the  foot 
of  a  laro^e  tree.  On  lookino^  in  that 
direction,  he  saw  a  white  pigeon, 
which  seemed  to  have  just  escaped 
from  a  basket.  George  and  Kitty,  the 
children  of  Mr.  Carter,  were  on  the 
grass  near  the  tree.  Kitty  had  fool- 
ishly opened  the  basket,  while  her 
brother  lay  asleep,  and  was  vainly 
stretching  out  her  hand  after  the 
bird. 


148  CHARLES   CLIFFORD. 

*'  There  now,"  said  George  "  I 
had  such  a  pretty  pigeon  to  give 
you,  and  I  just  fell  asleep  under  the 
tree,  when  you  came  and  let  it  fly 
away.  O,  what  a  naughty,  inqi^isi 
live  girl  you  are  !" 

^'  Come,  come,"  said  Charles,  "  I 
can  give  you  as  many  pigeons  as 
you  want ;  this  loss  need  not  trouble 
you." 

^'  Yes,"  said  George,  "  but  father 
says  that  Kitty  has  too  much  curi- 
osity, and  she  is  always  prying  into 
what  does  not  belong  to  her." 

"It  is  certainly  wrong,"  said 
Charles,  "  but  you  should  not  speak 
more  of  it ;  for  Kitty  is  sufficiently 
punished  by  los-ng  the  pretty  pigeon. 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  149 

But  if  you  will  come  with  me,  I  will 
show  jou  something  much  prettier 
than  the  pigeon." 

The  children  sprang  up,  and 
taking  hold  of  his  hands,  walked 
with  him  till  they  came  to  the  bank 
of  the  stream  which  runs  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  garden.  As  soon  as  they 
came  near,  Kitty  exclaimed, 

''  O,  Mr.  Clifford  !  what  a  beauti- 
ful, beautiful  boat!  Pray  whose  is 
it?" 

George  also  said, 

*'  It  is   perfectly  new.     I   never 

saw  it  before.     The  paint  is  bright 

and  glossy.     What  a  pretty  red  and 

green !    And  see  the  oars  have  nevei 

been  used." 

13^ 


150  CHARLES   CLIFFORB. 

Kitty,  What  is  that  white  cloth 
for? 

Charles.  It  is  an  awnino^  to  be 
spread  over  the  boat,  to  keep  off  the 
sun. 

George,  Do  tell  us  whose  boa 
it  is. 

Charles.  Cannot  you  read  those 
gilt  letters  on  the  stern  ? 

George.  O,  yes.  I  did  not  see 
them  before. 

THE     ACADEMY     BARGE. 

Charles  Now  read  what  is  paint- 
ed on  the  front  part. 

George.  Presented  to  Mr.  Car- 
ter 13Y  HIS  GRATEFUL  SCHOOL. 

Charles.    The  boys  of  the  school 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  J  51 

liave  all  put  their  money  together, 
and  have  bought  this  little  boat  for 
your  good  father.  He  often  wants 
to  cross  the  creek,  and  it  will  be  very 
pleasant  in  summer-time  to  row  up 
and  down  the  stream.  Now,  sup 
pose  you  get  in,  and  let  me  row  you 
a  little  way. 

Accordingly  the  little  children  got 
into  the  skiff,  and  Charles  took  the 
oars,  and  rowed  them  along.  It  was 
charming  weather,  and  every  thing 
was  green  and  lovely.  The  fish 
darted  by  them  with  their  scales 
sparkUng  in  the  sun.  The  swallows 
flew  about  in  circles,  and  skimmed 
so  near  the  water  as  to  touch  it  with 
their  wings.     On  both  sides  of  the 


152  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

Stream  there  were  wild  roses  and 
honeysuckles;  and  in  some  places 
the  grape-vines  hung  over  the  water, 
laden  with  fruit.  When  the  sun 
became  a  little  w^armer,  Charles 
rowed  along  the  shady  side,  where 
It  w^as  delightfully  cool.  The  child 
ren  could  reach  out  and  pull  the 
water-lilies,  and  look  into  the  bird's- 
nests  in  the  branches  near  the  wa- 
ter's edge.  They  also  heard  the 
thrush,  and  cat-bird,  and  robin,  and 
wood-lark  sino^ino^  amono^  the  leaves. 
The  scent  of  the  woods  and  clo- 
ver-fields was  very  pleasant ;  and 
every  now  and  then  they  came  to 
an  open  place,  and  could  look  away 
off  at  the  meadows,  and  farms,  and 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  153 

groves.  The  children  were  charmed 
with  every  thing  they  saw,  and  at 
last  asked  Charles  where  he  waa 
going  to  take  them. 

"  If  we  were  to  keep  on,"  said 
Charles,  "  we  should  at  length  reach 
the  Delaware  river ;  but  we  do  not 
wish  to  go  so  far.  So  I  shall  take 
you  back  again." 

George.  We  are  much  obliged  to 
you  for  this  nice  little  ride. 

Kitty.  O,  it  is  delightful !  The 
woods,  and  flowers,  and  every  thing 
look  so  sweet.  It  makes  me  very 
happy. 

Charles.    Do  vou  know  who  it  is 

.J 

that  makes  all  these  things  so  beau- 
tiful ? 


154  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

Geo7'ge  and  Kitty.  It  is  God. 

Charles.  And  is  it  not  He  who 
has  given  you  eyes  to  see  all  this, 
and  made  you  able  to  enjoy  it? 

George.  Yes,  sir. 

Charles.  And  is  it  not  God  who 
has  given  you  all  the  good  things 
you  have  in  the  world  ? 

Kitty.  Yes,  sir  It  is  God  who 
gives  us  our  father  and  mother,  and 
our  food  and  clothes,  and  every  thing. 

Charles.  Then,  if  God  does  all  this 
for  you,  I  am  sure  you  ought  to  love 
him  with  all  your  heart. 

George  Yes,  we  ought  indeed  to 
'ove  God.  Mother  tells  us  so  every 
day, 

Charles  Your  mother  is  a  kind 
5* 


CHARLES   CLIFFORD.  155 

woman.  She  nursed  me  kindly  aL 
the  time  I  was  sick,  and  I  shall  nevei 
forget  it.  You  must  take  good  care 
to  do  whatever  your  mother  tells  you. 
And  you  ought  to  be  thankful  to 
God  that  you  have  parents  who  can 
teach  you  what  is  good. 

Kitty.  Have  you  got  a  mother, 
Mr.  Clifford? 

Charles.  I  had  a  mother,  my  dear, 
Dut  she  is  in  heaven. 

Kitty.  O,  is  she  dead? 

Charles.  Yes,  she  is.  I  remember 
very  well  when  she  lay  upon  her 
dying  bed  She  said  something  to 
me  which  has  done  me  a  great  deal 
of  good  I  have  never  forgotten  her 
words. 


156  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

George.  Pray,  what  did  your  mo- 
ther say,  Mr.  Clifford? 

Charles,  She  said,  "  My  son,  love 
and  serve  God;  remember  your 
dying  mother's  words, — ^love  and 
serve  God." 

Kttty.  Did  she  never  say  any 
more? 

Charles.  No;  she  died  directly 
afterwards. 

Kitty.  Have  you  any  father,  Mr. 
Clifford? 

Charles.  I  have  no  father  in  this 
country ;  and  I  do  not  know  where 
my  dear  father  is. 

Kitty.  Does  it  not  make  you  verv 
sorry  to  think  you  have  no  father  anc* 
mother  ^o  talk  to  ? 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  157 

Charhi,  Sometimes  I  feel  sad 
but  the  Lord  always  takes  care  of 
me,  and  keeps  me  from  distress. 
And  if  you  will  trust  in  God,  he  will 
never  leave  you,  nor  forsake  you. 
But  see  there ;  we  have  got  almost 
back  to  the  foot  of  the  garden ;  and 
now  we  must  go  up  to  the  house,  for 
fear  your  mother  should  be  anxious 
about  you. 

It  was  in  this  way  that  Charles 
was  constantly  endeavouring  to  do 
good.  He  w^as  never  so  happy  as 
when  he  was  instructinor  those  who 
were  younger  or  more  ignorant  than 
himself  And  he  had  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  that  his  efforts  w^ere  not 
entirely  useless.  For  several  of  the 
14 


158  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

schoo.  boys  became  quite  serious,  in 
consequence  of  his  conversations. 
In  particular,  Burke,  whom  he  had 
saved  from  drowning,  listened  to 
what  he  said,  and  became  a  very 
diligent  reader  of  the  Bible.  This 
change  took  place  from  the  time 
when  Charles  was  sick,  and  talked 
with  him. 

Burke  came  one  day  into  the  gar- 
den, where  Charles  was  reading 
under  an  arbour,  and  said  to  him, 

"  Clifford,  I  believe  I  am  one  of 
tne  most  wretched  fellows  alive  " 

Charles.  Why  so,  Burke  ? 

Burke.  W  /  y ,  to  tell  you  the  plain 
fruth,  I  am  thinking  what  will  be- 
come of  mv  soui. 


CHARLES   I  LIFFORD.  159 

Charles.  I  think  it  time  you  sliould 
be  so.  But  I  dare  say  you  know 
where  relief  is  to  be  found. 

Burke.  One  thing  I  know,  indeed; 
that  is,  that  I  am  a  miserable  sinner. 
I  am  sometimes  almost  afraid  to  2^0 
to  bed  at  night.  And  I  am  alarmed 
when  I  look  back  at  my  past  life.  I 
have  had  kind  parents,  good  teach- 
ers, and  every  want  supplied ;  but 
.how  have  I  repaid  my  Maker?  I 
have  forgotten  him,  resisted  him, 
taken  his  holy  name  in  vain,  and 
profaned  his  Sabbaths. 

Charles.  I  know,  my  friend,  that 
there  is  real  cause  for  you  to  mourn  ; 
but— 

Burke.  When  I  tnink  of  God's 


IGO  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

goodness,  it  cuts  me  to  the  heart.  It 
is  even  woise  than  thinking  of  l\is 
ano^er.  I  see  that  it  would  have  been 
right  for  him  to  cast  me  away  in  my 
sins.  I  see  my  vile  ingratitude.  I 
see  that  I  deserve  to  be  forever 
punished. 

Charles.  But  is  it  not  your  desire 
to  serve  God  ? 

Burke.  (Weeping.)  I  have  tried, 
I  have  tried.  I  have  prayed  and 
read,  and  made  resolutions ;  but  the 
more  I  try,  the  more  I  see  of  the 
wickedness  of  my  heart.  I  have 
given  up  all  hopes  of  making  myself 
holy.  And  I  am  trying  just  to  lie 
at  the  foot  of  God's  throne,  to  let  him 
do  with  me  as  he  will. 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  161 

Charles.  My  dear  friend,  do  jou 

ot  hate  sin,  and  desire  to  be  deli- 

ered  from  it  ? 

Burke.  I  do,  I  do  !    0,  it  seems  to 

me  as  if  I  would  give  worlds,  if  I 

tiad  tJiem,  to  be  made  pure  and  like 

to  God. 

Charles.  Remember  that  God  so 
loved  the  world,  that  he  gave  his  only 
begotten  Son,  that  ?vhosoever  helieveth 
in  him  should  not  perish,  hut  have 
everlasting  life. 

Burke.  When  I  think  of  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ,  it  only  makes  my  sms 
seem  so  much  blacker;  for  I  have 
reiected  his  offers  so  many  times, 
that  I  am  afraid  now  he  will  not 
receive  me. 

14^ 


162  CHARLES    CLIFFORD 

Charles.  That  is  doubting  his 
word.  Him  that  cometh  to  me,  says 
he,  /  will  in  no  wise  cast  out.  Believe 
in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  thou 
^halt  he  saved.  This  is  true ;  for  it 
is  the  declaration  of  God. 

BiJ'ke.  But  do  you  think  such  a 
sinner  as  T  am,  might  dare  to  trust 
m  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ? 

Charles.  Dare !  Certainly,  the 
vilest  wretch  livinor  mi<>^ht  dare. 
Tlie  hlood  of  Christ  cleanseth  from 
all  sin.  And  this  is  a  faithful  say- 
tng,  and  worthy  of  all  acceptation, 
that  Jesus  Christ  came  into  the  world 
to  save  sinners,  of  whom  (said  the 
apostle  Paul)  /  am  chief. 

Burke.  Then  you  think  the  Lord 
Jesus  would  not  f^ast  me  away  ? 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  163 

Charles.  Surely  not !  And  tho 
suspicion  of  such  a  thing  is  very 
wicked ;  especially  when  he  has 
laid  down  his  life  for  sinners.  All 
things  are  ready,  if  you  are  only 
willing  to  submit  yourself  to  the 
righteousness  of  Christ. 

Burke.  But  my  heart  is  so  hard. 
I  am  not  penitent  enough.  I  have 
not  mourned  enough  for  my  sins, 
and  my  heart  seems  just  as  wicked 
as  ever. 

Charles.  But,  my  dear  friend,  do 
you  not  expect  to  buy  Christ'^ 
fav^our  ?  I  know  your  heart  is  hard 
and  wicked,  and  you  need  pardon , 
but  how  do  you  expect  to  get  it  if 
you  stay  away  from  the  Saviour? 
O,  come  now,   come  at  once;  give 


164  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

yourself  up  to  Jesus,  just  as  you 
are ;  believe  in  him,  and  all  your 
sins  shall  be  blotted  out. 

Burke.  I  am  afraid  to  cast  myself 
on  Christ,  lest  he  should  reject  me. 

Charles.  But  surely  your  pros- 
pect is  not  any  better  by  staying 
away.  Can  you  make  your  heart 
any  better? 

Burke.  What  you  say  convinces 
me  that  I  have  been  wrong,  and 
that  I  ought  immediately  to  repent 
and  believe. 

Charles.  Then,  let  us  go  to  a 
private  place^  where  we  may  en 
gage  in  prayer,  and  I  trust  you  wil/ 
at  once  secure  the  favour  of  God 
by  faith  ii:  him. 

The  two  youths  retired  to  a  secrei 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD  165 

place,  and  knelt  down.  Charles 
prayed  with  great  earnestness,  but 
in  a  simple  way,  that  his  friend 
might  be  made  a  child  of  God.  And 
while  he  was  praying  he  could  hear 
that  Burke  was  weeping  and  sob- 
bing. When  the  prayer  was  over, 
Burke  threw  his  arms  around 
Charles'  neck,  and  said, 

''  I  think  I  do  believe  in  Christ ! 
I  see  that  he  is  able  and  willing  to 
save  me.  I  trust  in  him,  and  lean 
on  him  alone  for  salvation.  Pre- 
cious, precious  Saviour  !  I  will  give 
him  all  I  have,  and  all  I  am — " 

Charles  was  more  thankful  than 
words  could  express,  at  this  change 
in  the  mind  of  Burke.  They  were 
now    constantly   together,   reading, 


166  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

praying,  and  singing  the  praises  ol 
God.  The  change  which  had  taken 
place  was  noticed  by  the  whole 
school.  Burke  had  been  the  rinor- 
leader  in  all  mischief,  a  bully,  and 
a  profane  swearer.  Now  he  was 
gentle  as  a  lamb.  He  had  been 
formerly  very  idle ;  now  he  was 
diligent  and  attentive.  He  spoke  to 
many  of  his  acquaintances,  and  told 
them  how  great  his  happiness  now 
was.  Before  long  he  persuaded 
several  of  them  to  join  with  Clifford 
and  himself,  every  day,  in  a  meet 
mg  for  reading  and  prayer;  and 
there  were  several  who  became 
serious  inquirers  after  the  truth,  aa 
H  is  in  Christ  Jesus. 


CHARLES    CLIFi'ORD.  169 


CHAPTER  X. 

Mary  Clifford  was  much  be 
loved  by  Mr.  Lee  and  his  family 
She  was  two  years  older  than  Hoa- 
rietta  Lee^  and  the  little  girls  spent 
much  of  their  time  together,  in 
study  and  in  play.  One  day  Mary 
was  sitting  in  the  piazza  by  her 
table,  with  her  hand  upon  her 
forehead,  and  with  a  very  sad 
countenance.  She  was  silent,  and 
the  tears  stood  in  ner  eyes.  Hen- 
rietta had  been  romping  about 
the  yard,  but  when  she  saw  Mary 
look  so  sorrowful  she  came  to  her. 
and  leaning  affectionately  upon  hei 

15 


170  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

arm,  then  said,  while  she  lookeo 
up  in  her  face, 

''  Mary,  you  look  very  sorrowful ; 
has  any  thing  happened  to  you'^" 

Mary.  No,  my  dear ;  1  was  only 
thinking. 

Henrietta.  But  you  must  tell  me 
what  you  were  thinking  about. 

Mary.  I  was  thinking  of  several 
thino^s  ;  but  v/hat  made  me  sad  was 
thinking  of  my  dear  father  and 
brother. 

Henrietta.  I  wish  your  father 
would  come  home,  for  then  you 
would  look  so  cheerful !  and  you 
would  take  us  all  to  Riverbank — 
would  you  not  ? 

Mary.     Yes,   we  should    all    be 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  171 

glad.     But  I  do  not  know  wLr;n  lie 
will  be  back.     If  Charles  was  here 
we  might  at  least  please  ourselves 
with  taking  him. 

Henrietta.  O,  you  will  soon  see 
Charles,  for  father  says  he  will 
return  next  Saturday. 

Mary.  Indeed  !  I  did  not  know 
that  he  would  come  so  soon.  Then 
w^e  must  go  to  woik,  Henrietta;  for 
you  know  we  promised  to  have  his 
room  all  ready  for  him. 

Henrietta.  Yes,  we  must  clean 
the  glass  of  the  pictures,  and  dust 
the  books,  and  have  the  flower-pots 
in  the  windows.  I  wish  I  had  a 
brother,  Mary. 

Mary.     You  had  a  brother  owe- 


172  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

Henrietta^  but  he  is  now  in  heaven 
and   if   you  love   the   Lord    Jesus 
Christ,  you  will  see  him  there. 

Henrietta.  You  seem  to  love 
your  brother  Charles  very  much  : 
better  than  anybody  in  the  world. 

Mary.  Yes,  I  love  him,  indeed, 
better  than  any  one  except  my  fa- 
ther. He  is  a  good  brother  to  me, 
and  he  is  the  only  one  I  have.  He 
is  always  trying  to  do  me  some  good, 
and  to  teach  me  something  useful. 
And  when  he  is  here,  we  spend  so 
many  pleasant  hours  together,  that  1 
do  not  know  how  to  do  without  him. 

Thus  it  was  that  this  affectionate 
girl  used  to  talk  of  her  brother ,  and 
she  was   impatient  for   his  return 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  .73 

Saturday  soon  arrived,  and  Mr.  Lee- 
sent  his  servant  with  a  horse  for 
Charles.  In  the  evening  he  rode 
gayly  up  to  the  house,  and  jumping 
off  the  horse,  saluted  his  sister,  and 
aunt,  and  all  the  family.  Then 
there  was  glee  and  rejoicing  until  a 
late  hour  of  the  evening. 

Charles  and  Mary  were  now  in- 
separable. He  was  not  to  go  to 
school  any  more,  and  therefore  had 
abundance  of  time  to  give  lessons  to 
his  sister.  As  soon  as  he  returned, 
he  began  to  lay  plans  for  this.  He 
drew  up  a  little  paper,  in  a  beautiful 
handwriting,  and  put  it  in  a  frame 
over  Mary's  table.  This  contained 
tha  rules  foi  the  day  ;  so  many  hours 
15* 


174  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

for  reading,  so  many  for  writing  and 
arithmetic,  so  many  for  work,  so 
many  for  exercise,  so  many  for  mu- 
sia,  and  so  many  for  reading  the 
Bible.  This  last  he  thought  the 
most  important,  for  he  was  desirous 
that  his  sister  should  improve  in 
Christian  knowledge. 

When  their  studies  wtto  over 
they  used  to  walk  in  the  garden  and 
orchard,  and  gather  the  fruits  which 
were  then  in  season.  But  their 
favourite  walk  was  on  the  banks  of  a 
little  brook  which  ran  through  the 
meadows  behind  the  parsonage. 
The  sweet-mint  grew  plentifully 
along  the  eiges,  and  gave  a  delight- 
ful smeli.     The    alders    and    rose 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  175 

bushes  stood  in  o-reen  thickets  alons" 
the  sides  of  the  brook,  and  were 
often  filled  with  sino^inor-birds.  And 
where  the  stream  ran  into  the  woods 
there  was  a  fine  shady  walk  on  both 
sides,  with  rough  seats  made  of 
trees,  at  proper  distances,  where 
they  might  rest  themselves.  The 
water  ran  over  the  pebbles  with  a 
gentle,  whispering  sound,  which 
was  very  agreeable. 

At  the  season  when  Charles  re- 
turned, the  leaves  were  beo^inninor  to 
fall,  and  the  woods  had  an  appear- 
ance which  no  painter  could  imitate. 
There  was  every  colour  of  the  rain- 
bow in  the  leaves,  and  every  tree 
bad  a  coloui   o'  its  own.     Charles 


176  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

taught  nis  sister  to  distinguisn  the 
bright  scarlet  of  the  maple,  the 
blood-red  of  the  dog- wood,  the  rusty 
hue  of  the  several  kinds  of  oak,  ana 
the  yellow  of  the  hickory.  He 
showed  her  how  the  leaves  of  some 
trees,  like  the  beech,  remained  on 
almost  all  winter,  and  how  the  rot- 
ting leaves  made  the  ground  richer 
for  the  next  year.  He  pointed  out 
to  her  many  of  the  plants  which  Mr. 
Carter  had  taught  him  to  know ; 
such  as  many  kinds  of  golden  rod, 
which  bloom  in  autumn:  the  spatter- 
dock,  or  sagitaria,  which  si  »reads  its 
oroad  leaves  on  the  ponds,  and  has 
two  diiferent  kinds  of  flovvrs;  and 
the  ferns,  which  have  no  flow  * » s  at  ail 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  177 

Mary  was  delighted  with  all  this. 
Indeed,  she  would  have  been  de- 
lighted with  almost  any  thing  which 
her  brother  taught  her ;  for  she  was 
pleased  to  be  with  him,  and  to  talk 
with  him  They  truly  loved  one 
another,  as  every  brother  and  sister 
should  do ;  and  this  was  the  way  to 
be  really  happy.  When  one  of  them 
was  glad,  the  other  w^as  always  sure 
to  partake  of  the  gladness ;  and  each 
tried  to  comfort  the  other  under  any 
sorrow. 

The  two  elder  daughters  of  Mr. 
Lee  were  very  amiable  young  ladies, 
who  had  received  a  good  education. 
They  took  great  pains  to  assist  Miss 
Clifforr  in  teaching  Mary;  and  in 


178  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

return,  Mary  loved  and  respectea 
them.  The  little  girl  had  been  try- 
in  o^  for  a  lono^  time  to  think  of  some 
j^ay  in  which  she  might  please  these 
kind  young  ladies.  At  last  she  ap- 
plied to  Charles  to  help  her,  and 
he  proposed  the  following  plan  : 

"  If  you  wdll  make  two  little  nee- 
dle-cases of  white  satm,"  said  he,  '*I 
will  paint  pictures  and  names  upon 
the  outside  of  them." 

"I  cannot  sew  well  enough,"  said 
Mary. 

''Then,"  replied  he,  "you  must 
get  aunt  Esther  to  help  you,  and  we 
will  not  let  any  one  know  until  they 
are  finished." 

Charles  had  a  genius  for  drawing 


CHARLES   CLIFFORD.  179 

and  painting,  so  that  the  drawing- 
master  at  the  academy  used  to  say 
that  he  ought  to  be  a  painter. 
Charles  laughed  at  this  notion,  but 
still,  he  often  amused  himself  and 
his  friends  with  his  pencil.  When 
the  little  needle-cases  were  done,  he 
took  them  into  his  room,  and  began 
to  make  his  pictures.  On  one  of 
them  he  drew  a  representation  of 
Rivei'hank,  and  with  the  words,  For 
Miss  Caroline  Lee.  On  the  other  he 
put  a  view  of  the  Parsonage,  with 
the  words,  For  Miss  Jane  Lee.  They 
then  wrapped  them  up  carefully, 
and  laid  them  upon  the  table  of  the 
young  ladies.  Mary  did  not  intend 
te  say  any  thing  about  it;  for  she 
rished  to  surprise  her  friends. 


180  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

Several  days  passed,  and  ever^ 
time  the  ladies  came  into  the  room, 
Charles  and  Mary  expected  some- 
thing to  be  said  about  the  presents 
But  not  a  word  was  uttered  upon 
the  subject.  At  last,  Mary  became 
so  impatient,  that  she  said  to  her 
aunt, 

"I  wonder  that  Miss  Jane  ana 
Miss  Caroline  never  say  any  thing 
about  the  needle-cases !" 

"I  am  surprised  too,"  said  Miss 
Cliflford ;  "I  think  I  must  ask  them 
about  it." 

So  she  inquired,  and  found  that 
they  had  never   seen   them   at  alJ 
They  could  not  imagine  who  could 
nave  taken  them,  but  Mrs.  Lee  said 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  L81 

she  suspected  a  little  girl  who  had 
lately  come  to  the  house  as  a  ser- 
vant. When  the  thing  came  to  be 
inquired  into,  it  appeared  that  Hen- 
rietta had  seen  the  little  servant-girl 
with  a  needle-case  of  this  kind.  So, 
Sally  was  called,  and  though  she 
denied  liaving  any  such  thing,  yet 
when  Mrs.  Lee  brought  them  down 
from  her  chamber,  all  soiled  and 
rained,  she  confessed  that  she  had 
taken  them. 

When  Mary  saw  her  beautiful 
work  thus  defaced,  she  became  quite 
angry;  her  face  became  very  red, 
and  at  lengrth  she  burst  into  tears. 
Charles  also  was  more  concerned  tor 

his  sister's  disappointment,  than  if 
16 


182  CHARLES    CLIFFORD 

it  had  been  his  own  loss;  he  there 
fore  turned  round  to  the  child,  and 
said,  very  roughly, 

''  You  are  a  wicked  little  thief! 
and  I  hope  you  will  be  punished." 

Miss  Clifford  took  him  gently  by 
the  arm,  and  said, 

"  Charles,  Charles !  you  are  too 
warm ;  you  should  speak  more 
gently." 

Charles  blushed,  and  said, 

"  I  confess  I  spoke  too  hastily.  I 
should  have  remembered  that  per- 
haps this  little  girl  has  never  had 
any  instruction.  And,  now,  Mrs. 
Lee,  I  beg  that  you  will  not  turn 
her  out  ol  the  family  on  this  ac- 
count." 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  183 

After  some  conversation  with  the 
child,  Mr.  Lee  was  convinced  that 
it  was  her  first  offence,  and  at 
Ciianes'  request  he  suffered  her  to 
remain  in  the  house. 

When  Charles  and  Mary  went  to 
walk  in  the  afternoon,  they  began 
to  talk  about  this  matter.  And  their 
conversation  led  to  other  thino-s  of 
more  importance.  Therefore,  I  wall 
conclude  this  chapter  bj  putting 
down  what  they  said. 

Charles.  I  am  sorrj^  tliat  I  be- 
came so  angry  to-day  with  pooi 
Sally,  for  I  am  sure  she  is  sorr^ 
enough  for  what  she  has  done. 

Mary     But,  then  I  do  not  wondei 
at  you  being  angry  to  see  all  youi 


L84  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

beautiful  work  soiled  with  her  dirty 
fingers ;  so  we  have  had  all  our  trou 
ble  for  nothing. 

Charles.  No,  I  hope  it  is  not  for 
nothing.  I  hope  we  shall  both  learn 
from  tills  not  to  speak  before  we 
think,  and  also  to  make  allowances 
for  poor  children,  who  have  not  had 
our  advantages. 

Mary.  But,  brother,  do  you  not 
think  it  was  a  great  sin  ? 

Charles.  Certainly.  But,  then  w^e 
must  remember  that  Sally  has  had 
nobody  to  teach  her,  as  we  have 
had.  She  cannot  read  in  the 
Bible;  and  Mr.  Lee  says  her 
father  is  a  wretched  drunkard.  O, 
sister,    we    ought  never   to    forget 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  185 

liovv  greatly  wo  have  been  favoured 
When  we  were  very  small  children 
our   parents   used   to   spend    many 
hours  in  ^caching  us. 

Mary.  I  know  that  very  few  have 
had  such  advantages. 

Charles.  Do  you  remember  when 
father  used  to  take  us  upon  his 
knee,  and  tell  us  Scripture  stories? 

Mary.  O,  yes.  And  it  makes  me 
sad  to  think  about  those  days.  It 
was  so  delightful  to  be  at  River- 
bank.  And  I  remember  how  we 
used  to  sit  in  the  arbour  on  the 
summer  evenings,  and  sing  hymns. 

Charles.  We  ought  to  be  thank- 

Uil    for    those    days ;    perhaps   we 

©hall    never    have    any   more   like 

Uem. 

16* 


JS6  CHARLES    CLIFFORD 

Many.  I  wonder  if  our  dear  father 
will  ever  come  home !  O,  brother, 
what  do  you  think  has  become  of 
him? 

Charles.  Indeed,  I  am  as  igno- 
rant about  it  as  you  are.  Mr.  Lee 
thinks  that  we  shall  very  soon  hear 
something,  because  the  war  has 
stopped  in  Spain  and  Portugal, 
where  father  had  some  thouo^hts  of 


oromor. 


Mary.    O,    brother,    perhaps    he 
has  been  killed ! 

Charles.  Mary,  you  must  rem  em 
lier  that  we  are  all  in  the   hands  of 
the  Lord      I  remember  very  well, 
that    before   our   dear   father    \vent 
awav,  we  all  knelt  down  and  asked 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  1S7 

the  blessing  of  God  upon  his  voyage, 
And  we  have  all  prayed  every  day 
for  the  same  thing.  Now,  I  hope 
God  has  answered  these  prayers,  and 
that  father  will  return  again. 

Mary.  But  what  if  he  should 
never  return  ? 

Charles.  That  is  dreadful  to  think 
of.  But  we  must  ask  grace  of  the 
Lord  to  help  us  in  every  time  of 
trouble.  God  is  the  Father  of  the 
fatherless.  He  took  care  of  us 
when  our  dear  mother  died.  O, 
how  well  I  remember  that  sad 
night,  when  I  saw  her  on  her  dying 
bed !  You  were  too  small  to  be 
vhere,  Mary ;  but  I  can  never  forge* 
It.     Do  you  remember  your  mother  • 


188  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

Mary.  I  can  ju^t  remember  her. 
but  I  was  too  young  to  know  mucn 

Charles.  I  think  I  see  her  now 
sitting  by  the  window,  where  she 
used  to  look  out  on  the  river,  when 
she  was  too  feeble  to  walk.  She 
was  so  pale  and  thin,  and  her  voice 
was  so  weak,  that  it  made  me 
always  sorry  to  see  her. 

Mary.  Did  she  speak  to  you 
when  she  was  on  her  death-bed  ? 

Charles.  Yes,  Mary ;  and  I  dare 
say  that  what  she  said  to  me  was 
meant  for  yoii  too.  Aunt  Esther 
waked  me  up  before  day,  and  took 
me  into  the  room.  I  could  just 
hear  my  dear  mother's  voice,  when 
she  stretched    out  her   hands,  and 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  189 

said,  ''My  son — my  son,  love  and 
serve  God — remember  your  djino- 
mother's  words — love  and  serve 
God."  And  then  she  fell  into  the 
nurse's  arms,  and  after  I  liad  kissed 
her  cold  lips,  she  died.  O  !  I  shall 
remember  it  as  long  as  I  live. 

When  Charles  said  these  thino-s, 
Mary  leaned  her  head  against  his 
arm,  and  began  to  weep.  Charles 
also  wept,  and  it  was  some  time 
before  they  could  go  on  with  their 
conversation.     At  last  he  said, 

''What  a  blessing  it  is  to  have 
pious  parents  !  Then,  even  if  they 
are  taken  away  from  us,  we  may 
be  sure  they  have  gone  to  heaven; 
and  if  we  believe  in  the  Saviour 
we  shall  meet  them  ajrain." 


190  CHARI.es    CLIFFORD. 

Marij.  That  is  true.  Poor  Sally's 
father  is  a  profane,  drunken  man, 
and  if  he  dies,  she  can  never  have 
any  comfort  in  thinking  of  him. 

Charles.  The  way  for  us  to  feei 
always  happy,  is  to  trust  in  the 
Lord.  Then  we  know  that  every 
thing  will  happen  aright.  We  will 
not  forget  to  pray  every  day  for  our 
dear  absent  father,  and  I  hope  before 
Ions:  that  we  shall  have  some  news 
from  him. 

Mary.  O,  brother,  it  w^ould  be 
almost  too  good — too  happy  to  think 
of,  if  father  should  come  back  again. 
Then  we  should  all  live  together  ai 
Riverbank. 

Charles.  Yos,  it  would  indeed  be 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  191 

a  great  happiness ;  and  perhaps  our 
heavenly  Father  will  give  ns  this 
great  blessing.  But  whatever  he 
loes,  v^e  know  will  be  right  and 
merciful. 

Mary.  Perhaps  we  have  never 
been  thankful  enough  for  our  good 
things. 

Charles.  I  am  sure  we  nave  not. 
We  are  never  thankful  enough  for 
favours.  We  deserve  nothing  at 
all,  and  instead  of  complaining,  we 
should  be  giving  thanks.  We  do 
very  little  in  return  for  all  our 
mercies. 

Mary.  Brother,  you  say  we  ough 
always  to  be  trying  to  do  good  ;  sup- 
pose  I  begin    this  very  evening  to 
teach  poor  Sally  to  read. 


192  CHARLES    CLIFFORD 

Charles.  I  am  glad  jou  thought 
of  it.  You  may  do  her  a  great  deal 
of  good,  and  it  will  be  the  best  way 
of  showing  her  that  you  have  no  ill- 
will  against  her  for  what  she  has 
d  one- 
It  was  now  bemnnino^  to  ^row 
dark,  and  Charles  and  Mary  return- 
ed to  the  house,  where  they  found 
all  the  happy  family  collected.  After 
a  pleasant  evening,  they  engaged  in 
the  worship  of  God,  and  then  retired 
to  rest 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  I  OH 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Im  the   midst  of  all  the  anxiety 

which  Charles  felt  about  his  father, 

he  employed  himself  in  trying  to  do 

good  ;  for  he  thought  this  would  be 

the  best  way  to  prevent  sadness  and 

gloom.     He  knew  that  it  was  not 

common  for  very  young  persons  to 

go  about  visiting  the  poor,  but  he 

did    not   think  this    w^as   any   good 

reason  why  he  should  not  obey  our 

Saviour's  command.     Therefore,  he 

found  out  many  suffering  families, 

and  procured  rehef  for  them.     Bin 

there  was  another  method  of  useful- 
17 


104  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

ness,  of  which  I  shall  now  give  an 
account. 

There  was  a  week  of  uncommonly 
warm  weather  in  the  autumn  of  this 
year,  and  the  young  people  spent 
most  of  their  time  in  the  open  air. 
One  afternoon  Miss  Caroline  and 
Miss  Jane  were  sitting  on  one  of  the 
seats  in  the  grove,  under  a  fine  shady 
bank,  when  Charles  came  walking 
towards  them  in  company  with  a 
little  boy  from  the  neighbouring 
farm. 

"  I  have  brought  James  Temple 
to  see  you,"  said  Charles;  and  seat- 
ing himself  upon  the  grass,  he  began 
to  explain  his  plan,  which  was,  thai 
each  of  them  should  try  to  get  seve- 


CHARLES    CIIFFORD.  195 

ral  scholars  by  the  next  Lord's-day 
and  that  they  should  then  begin  to 
teach. 

*'  But  where  will  you  teach  ?"  said 
Mary. 

James.  O,  my  father  says  the  up- 
per room  in  the  old  mill  is  never 
used  for  any  thing,  and  it  is  very 
nice  and  clean. 

Caroline.  That  is  just  the  place! 
For  there  are  a  number  of  poor  fa- 
milies around  there,  and  their  child- 
ren need  instruction  very  much. 

James  We  do  not  know  what  to 
do  for  books,  but  I  hope  Mr.  Lee 
will  hel])  us. 

Carolim,  We  can  gather  a  fev/ 
bookj^  to    begin   with    among    tno 


i96  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

neighbours,  and  when  father  ^roes  to 
the  city  next  week,  he  can  get  us 
as  many  as  we  want. 

Jane.  Yes,  we  will  all  put  in  our 
pocket  money  to  buy  books  ;  and  all 
the  good  people  in  the  neighbour- 
hood will  help  on. 

Mary.  Do  you  think  I  am  big 
enough  to  teach  in  the  Sunday- 
school  ?     I  can  teach  the  A,  B,  C. 

Jane.  Yes,  certainly.  You  may 
have  two  or  three  little  girls,  w^io  do 
not  know  their  letters. 

Charles.  And  as  Miss  Caroline  is 
the  eldest  among  us,  and  knows  the 
most,  she  shall  be  our  superintend 
ent. 

Caroline    I  am  very  willing  to  do 


CHA.RLES    CLTFiORD.  197 

what  I  can,  until  you.  can  get  a  bet 
er  person. 

So  the  plan  was  arranged,  and  the 
next  morning  they  all  set  out  to  visit 
the  neighbours,  and  try  how  many 
scholars  they  could  get.  Their  vi- 
sits were  received  in  very  different 
ways  at  the  different  houses.  Some 
of  the  people  said,  that  they  could 
not  see  anv  use  in  learnino^  to  read, 
and  that  their  children  should  not 
go.  Others  said,  that  they  thought 
there  must  be  some  evil  intended, 
for  they  did  not  suppose  these  young 
[)eople  would  be  so  ready  to  take  all 
this  trouble  for  nothino^.  Some 
made  this  excuse,  that  their  children 

had  no    olothes  fit  to   go  out   in. 

17* 


198  CHA.RLES    CLIFFORD 

Others  said,  that  they  wished  their 
little  beys  and  girls  to  stay  at  home, 
to  help  them  at  their  work.  But  in 
a  number  of  houses  they  found 
children  who  ao^reed  to  come. 

The  young  people  were  very 
much  taken  up  with  their  plan,  and 
when  the  day  arrived  for  beginning, 
they  all  set  off  very  cheerfully  for 
the  mill.  It  was  about  a  mile  from 
the  parsonage,  but  they  were  all 
fond  of  walking,  and  arrived  there 
at  a  very  early  hour.  Here  they 
met  Miss  Temple  and  James,  and 
found  a  number  of  little  boys  and 
ofirls,  who  looked  very  clean  and 
neat.  They  had  thirteen  scholars 
to  begin  with.     To  each  of  these 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  199 

thoy  gave  a  hymn-book  and  a  New 
T(3stanient,  with  a  spelling-book  to 
such  as  could  not  read.  Miss  Caroline 
examined  them  all,  to  see  how  much 
they  knew,  and  then  divided  them 
into  little  classes.  Miss  Temple  had 
three  of  the  larger  girls.  Miss  Jane 
had  also  three.  And  Mary  under- 
took to  teach  little  Sally,  whom  slie 
broujrht  alono^  w^ith  her.  Charles 
cOok  the  four  larger  boys,  and  James 
Temple  agreed  to  instruct  the  two 
smallest  boys  in  the  school,  who 
were  the  sons  of  the  miller. 

MissCaroline  went  from  one  class 
to  another,  and  explained  the  way  in 
which  they  were  to  learn.  She  gave 
each  of  the  teachers  a  little  book,  in 


200  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

which  they  were  to  write  down  the 
names  of  the  scholars,  and  mark 
when  they  were  absent.  She  told 
them  that  in  a  few  weeks  they  would 
have  a  librarj^,  with  a  number  of 
good  Sunday-school  books,  and  tha^ 
each  scholar  who  behaved  well 
might  take  a  book  home,  and  keep 
it  all  the  week. 

Some  of  the  children  did  not  know 
how  to  behave  themselves  at  first. 
They  had  never  been  to  school  be- 
fore, and  they  whispered  and  ran 
about  without  leave.  But  when  Miss 
Caroline  explained  to  them  that  this 
was  wrong,  they  al  seemed  desirous 
to  be  quiet.  Both  the  teachers  and 
scholars  were  very  much   pleased 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  20j 

and  it  was  a  beautiful  sight  to  behold 
a  number  of  children  beginning  to 
learn  the  way  of  life.     When  they 
were  nearly  through  their  lessons, 
Mr.  Lee  rode  up  to  the  door,  and, 
getting  off  his  horse,  came  in  with  a 
smiling    countenance.       He    shook 
hands   with    all   the   children,    and 
asked  about  their  parents.     He  also 
gave  some  little  books  to  such  as 
could  read,  and  heard  some  of  them 
recite.     Then  he  told  them  all  to 
close  their  books,  while  he  made  a 
short  address  to  them.    He  told  them, 
that  as   their   teachers   were   quite 
young,  he  intended  to  take  the  school 
under  his  own  particular  care,  and 
that  they  might  expect  to  see  him 


202  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

theie  every  Lord's-day.     And  then 
he  read  a  hymn  for  them  to  sing 
and  offered  up  prayer ;  after  which 
the  school  was  dismissed. 

There  was  not  one  of  the  teachers 
who  was  not  glad  that  this  school 
had  been  formed.  They  now  had 
something  to  employ  their  minds  all 
the  week,  and  they  felt  a  strong  hope 
that  they  might  do  some  good.  On 
the  Sabbath  evening,  when  the 
family  were  collected  for  evening 
prayers,  Mr.  Lee  spoke  to  them  as 
follows : 

"  My  dear  children,  I  feel  thankful 
that  we  have  another  Sunday-school, 
and  that  so  many  of  my  family  are 
engaged  in  this  good  work.     Now, 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  203 

f  wish  you  all  to  remember,  that  it 
is  a  very  serious  thing  to  try  to  teach 
others.  You  are  about  to  teach  tnese 
children  to  read  the  Scriptures,  the 
word  of  God,  and  to  understand 
what  the  Bible  means.  You  must 
be  careful  never  to  forget  this ;  and 
you  must  always  attend  to  those 
things  which  you  teach  others.  It 
would  be  dreadful  if  any  of  you 
should  show  these  children  what 
they  ought  to  do  to  be  saved,  without 
doing  it  yourselves.  All  your  teach- 
ing will  do  no  good  without  the 
blessing  of  God.  Therefore,  you 
should  constantly  pray  for  the  souls 
of  the  children,  and  try  in  every  way 
to  lead  them  to  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ 


204  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

And  during  the  week,  it  will  be  very 
right  for  you  to  go  and  see  them, 
and  talk  with  them,  and  show  them 
how  to  get  their  lessons." 

On  Monday  morning,  Charles 
went  to  see  his  little  scholars,  and 
talked  with  their  parents.  He  also 
found  several  other  children  who 
agreed  to  come  to  the  school.  The 
other  teachers  did  the  same  thing, 
so  that  on  the  next  Lord's-day  they 
had  more  than  thirty  scholars.  It 
began  to  be  talked  about  among  the 
neighbours,  and  a  namber  of  grown 
persons  came  to  see  the  school. 
There  were  various  opinions  on  the 
subject.  Some  said  it  was  a  very 
good  thing,  while  others  ridiculed  it, 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  :205 

and  said  that  nothing  could  be  learned 
by  going  to  school  two  or  three  hours 
m  the  week.  But  they  soon  saw 
their  mistake;  for  some  of  the  pa- 
rents said  that  their  children  learned 
more  on  Sunday  than  in  all  the  rest 
of  the  week  put  together.  And  as 
the  little  boys  and  girls  were  not 
forced  to  learn,  but  did  every  thing 
of  their  own  accord,  it  was  surprising 
to  see  with  what  pleasure  they  got 
their  lessons. 

Charles  remembered  Mr.  Lee's 
advice,  and  took  care  to  talk  with 
every  one  of  his  scholars  privately. 
He  tried  to  make  them  understand 
that  they  were  sinners,  and  that  tht 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  had  died  to  save 
18 


206  CHARLES    CI  [FFORD 

the  souls  of  men.  And  some  of  the 
little  boys  seemed  very  much  affected 
with  what  he  said,  and  often  shed 
tears.  It  was  not  long  before  their 
books  came,  and  then  they  had  a 
library.  Mr.  Hope,  the  carpenter, 
made  and  presented  them  a  neat 
bookcase ;  and  the  girls  put  strong 
covers  upon  tlie  books,  to  keep  them 
from  being  injured.  When  the 
children  took  the  books  home,  their 
fathers  and  mothers  often  read  them, 
and  Mr.  Lee  used  to  say  that  this 
made  many  come  to  church  who  hac* 
never  come  before. 

"The  more  Sundav-schools  I  have," 
said  he,  "  the  more  people  come  ou 
.0  the  worship  of  God." 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  207 

But  there  are  many  persons  in  the 
country  who  do  not  hke  Sunday 
schools,  and  who  do  every  thhi? 
they  can  to  oppose  them.  The 
reason  of  this  is,  that  tliey  are  ere- 
mies  to  all  religion,  and  do  not  w^ish 
to  be  disturbed  in  their  sins.  There 
was  a  person  of  this  description  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  the  parsonage. 
This  was  Dr.  Milton,  an  elderly 
man,  wdio  had  spent  most  of  his  life 
in  practising  medicine,  dux  was  now 
living  on  his  farm.  He  was  verv 
rich,  and  used  to  pass  his  time  in 
pleasures  of  every  kind.  He  was 
fond  of  drinking,  and  card-playing, 
and  horse-racing,  and  w^ent  from  one 
tavern  to  another,  where   he   could 


208  CHARLES    CLIFFORD 

(iiid  jolly  companions.  He  was  so 
rough  and  unfriendly  in  his  man- 
ners, that  very  few  people  liked  him, 
though  many  feared  him  on  account 
of  his  wealth. 

One  Sabbath  mornino^,  whenthev 
were  all  busily  engaged  in  their 
school,  Doctor  Milton  galloped  up  to 
the  house.  He  came  in  suddenly, 
without  taking  off  his  hat,  and  look- 
ed so  stupid  in  the  face,  that  Miss 
Lee  supposed  he  was  a  little  intoxi- 
cated. The  truth  was,  he  had  just 
taken  enough  of  liquor  to  make  him 
rude  and  ill-natured.  Miss  Lee 
placed  a  chair  for  him,  but  he  took 
no  notice  of  it.  He  walked  about 
among   the   children,   with   a   very 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  209 

contemptuous  look.  The  teachers, 
after  speaking  to  him  politely,  went 
n  with  their  lessons.  After  some 
time,  he  threw  himself  into  a  chair. 
and  seemed  to  be  laughing  at  every 
thing  he  saw.  At  last  he  burst  into 
a  loud  laugh. 

''Ha!  ha!  ha!  fine  work,"  said 
he,  "  fine  work  for  young  ladies,  to 
be  cominof  to  an  old  mill,  to  teach  a 
parcel  of  dirty  children." 

*'  We  are  trying  to  do  them  good,'' 
said  Miss  Lee ;  "  and  I  believe  there 
is  no  harm  in  teaching  them  the 
Scriptures." 

"  Teaching  them  a  fiddlestick  !'* 
said  he,  and   broke  out  again   in   a 
roar  of  laughter.     "  Teaching  them 
18* 


210  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

to  be  a  set  of  whining  hypocrites, 
you  nad  better  say  !" 

The  teachers  were  very  much 
disturbed  by  his  behaviour,  and  the 
scholars  scarcely  knew  what  to 
think  of  it.  Tue  little  ones  giggled, 
and  some  who  were  larger  seemed 
frightened.    But  the  doctor  went  on. 

*'  Young  ladies,"  said  he,  "  I  will 
tell  you  the  reason  why  you  are  so 
good ;  you  wish  to  be  admired." 

Charles  was  much  offended  by 
this  remark ;  and  as  the  young  la- 
dies had  no  protector  but  himself, 
his  temper  was  excited  more  than 
was  common  with  him.  He  rose, 
and  said, 

"  Doctor  Milton,  your  remarks  are 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  211 

very  rude;  this  is  ow  school,  and 
you  have  no  right  to  interfere  with 
It." 

'  Pray,  Mastef  Independence,'* 
said  the  doctor,  "what  might  your 
name  be  ?  I  do  not  remember  that  I 
ever  saw  you  before." 

*'  It  makes  no  difference,"  said 
Charles;  "you  have  spoken  in  a 
very  ungentlemanly  way,  and  w^e 
desire  that  you  would  leave  us." 

The  doctor  then  threatened  to 
strike  him  with  his  riding-whip,  at 
which  Charles  became  very  angry, 
and  said  some  things  which  were  en- 
tirely too  harsh,  and  wiiich  he  was 
sorry  for  afterwards.  He  then  told 
the  aocioi  that  his  name  was  Clif- 


212  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

ford,  and  that  Captain  Clifford  \\'as 
his  father.  The  doctor  seemed  to 
think  then  that  he  had  gone  too  far 
and  marched  out  of  the  house. 

When  he  had  gone,  Charles  began 
to  think  that  he  had  not  spoken  in  a 
proper  manner  to  Doctor  Milton. 
And  when  he  mentioned  this  to  Miss 
Lee,  she  said  that  Charles  had  been 
too  warm;  and  though  the  doctor 
had  behaved  so  little  like  a  o^entle- 
man,  this  did  not  excuse  the  anorer 
of  Charles.  These  things  made  the 
young  people  think  that  they  must 
not  expect  to  do  good  without  meet- 
ing with  some  opposition  and  ridi- 
cule. But  they  very  seldom  met 
with  any  thing  so   trying  to   their 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  213 

f  .eliiigs  as  this.  Indeed,  this  person 
Qever  gave  them  any  farther  trouble, 
and  always  seemed  to  be  ashamed 
of  the  manner  in  wliich  he  had 
treated  them. 

The  Sunday-school  was  a  bless- 
ing to  the  neighbourhood.  It  was 
not  long  before  several  of  the  scho- 
lars appeared  to  be  deeply  concerned 
for  the  salvation  of  their  souls.  And 
some  of  the  parents  learned  things 
from  their  children  which  they  had 
never  known  before,  and  which 
made  them  think  very  seriously. 
The  idle,  dirty  children  who  used 
to  be  playing  about  the  waj^side,  and 
making  a  noise  every  Sabbath,  were 
now  seen,  neat  and  quiet,  going  to 


214  CHARLES    CIIFFORD. 

the  school.  The  teachers  also  \\  ere 
more  and  more  pleased  with  theii 
work.  They  found  that  they  learned 
a  great  deal  by  teaching  others ;  and 
they  had  the  constant  pleasure  of 
knowing  that  they  were  doing  some 
good. 

Thus  the  autumn  passed  away, 
and  the  cold  weather  began  to  come 
on.  When  the  nio^hts  became  longr 
and  it  was  too  cold  to  be  much 
out  of  doors,  the  family  used  to 
collect  after  tea  every  evening  for 
reading.  They  took  turns  in  reading 
aloud  such  useful  and  entertaining: 
books  as  Mr.  Lee  chose  for  this  pur- 
pose. They  read  travels  in  various 
parts  of  the  world,  and  interesting 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  21.5 

histories,  besides  the  lives  of  many 
good  and  great  persons.     Then  they 
would  ask  questions,  and  converse 
together ;  and  thus  the  long  winter 
evenings  passed  by  most  pleasantly 
Mr.  Lee  also   took   pains   to   sho\\ 
them  many  beautiful  experiments  ir. 
natural  philosophy  and   chemistry 
He  procured  an  electrical  machine 
and  an  air-pump  for  this  very  pur- 
pose, and  spent  a  great  part  of  his 
time  in  giving  them  instruction.    1l 
the  bright  winter  nights,  he  used  to 
take  the  young  people  out,  and  show 
them  the  different  constellations  into 
^vhich  tlie  stars  are  divided,  and  also 
the  moon  through  a  telescope. 
''^hus  ttiey  were  learning    more 


216  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

and  more  every  day,  without  ever 
feelms:  it  to  be  a  task.  The  labour 
of  study  was  rendered  delightful, 
and  they  were  encouraged  to  go  o'l 
and  learn  still  more. 

Charles  and  Mary  took  the  greats 
est  delight  m  the  study  of  the 
Holy  Scriptures.  They  tried  to 
&nd  out  every  thmg  which  could 
nake  them  understand  the  Bible 
more  fully.  And  Mr.  liCe  assist- 
ed them  in  tiiis,  by  getting  maps  of 
the  countries  mentioned  in  Scrip- 
ture, and  books  of  travels  which 
describe  them,  together  with  vari- 
ous accounts  of  the  manners  and 
customs  of  eastern  people.  All  these 
tnings  enabled  them  to  teach  their 


ClfARLES    CLIFFORD.  217 

Sunday  scholars ;  and  every  thing 
which  they  learned,  that  could  be 
made  use  of  in  this  way,  they  con 
veyed  to  the  little  children.  But  in 
the  midst  of  all  these  comforts  and 
blessings,  there  was  something  lack 
ing.  They  heard  nothing  of  theii 
father,  and  were  ready  to  give  up  all 
hope  of  seeing  him.  He  was  so  ill 
"when  he  went  away,  that  they 
thought  it  likely  he  had  died  in 
.^ome  strange  place,  and  that  they 
should  never  hear  of  him.  In  this 
trouble,  they  found  no  way  of  relief 
out  in  laying  theii  sorrows  before 
{he  Lord. 


19 


218  CHARLES    CLIFFORD 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Captain  Clifford  had  always 
taken  great  p-^ins  to  keep  his  child- 
ren from  any  superstitious  notions. 
For  this  purpose  he  never  allowed 
the  servants  to  tell  them  any  foolish 
tales  about  signs,  and  tokens,  and 
witches.  But  notwithstanding  all 
this,  it  is  certain  that  Mary  had  got 
some  things  of  this  kind  into  her 
head,  which  did  her  much  harm. 

One  morning,  when  Miss  Esther 
Clifford  was  sewing  by  the  parlour 
fire,  Mary  came  up  to  lier  with  a 
very  sad  countenance,  and  with 
tears  in  her  eyes. 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  219 

"  What  can  be  the  matter  witn 
you  this  morning  ?"  said  Miss  Clif 
ford. 

"  O,  aunt !  I  am  sure  my  dear 
father  is  dead,  and  that  we  shal 
never  see  him  acrain." 

Miss  Clifford.  But  why  do  you 
think  so,  Mary  ?  You  are  not  a 
prophetess,  to  foretell  what  shall 
come  to  pass. 

Mary.  No;  but  this  morning  I 
feel  as  I  never  felt  before.  I  feel 
sure  that  something  is  going  to  hap- 
pen, almost  as  sure  as  if  I  saw  it. 
Something  seems  to  say  to  me  all 
the  time,  "  Your  father  is  dead  ! — 
your  father  is  dead  !"  I  cannot  get 
*t  out  of  my  mind. 


220  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

Miss  C.  This  is  an  idle  impres- 
sion. It  is  what  people  call  a  pi^e-sen 
timent.  And  it  is  what  I  call  super- 
stition. It  is  very  unreasonable. 
You  ought  to  put  your  trust  in  the 
goodness  of  the  Lord,  and  not  to  give 
way  to  such  feelings. 

Mary.  I  do  try,  but  I  cannot 
help  thinking  so  still. 

Miss  C.  I  am  afraid  somebody 
has  been  putting  this  foolish  notion 
into  your  head.  Now,  come  and  tell 
me  the  truth  ;  have  not  some  of  the 
servants  been  talking  to  you  about 
this? 

Mary.  I  will  tell  you  the  truth, 
Aunt  Esther.  I  have  heard  some* 
thing,  but  not  from  the  servants. 


CHARLES   CLIFFORD.  221 

Miss  C.  Who  could  have  been  so 
wicked  then  as  to  talk  to  you  in  this 
way  ? 

Mary,  It  was  old  Mrs.  Carpenter, 
whom  we  all  used  to  call  Granny.  I 
called  in  at  her  house  with  the  vounor 
woman  who  was  coming  here  to  sew. 

Miss  C.  But  you  ought  not  to 
call  her  Granny;  she  does  not  like  it. 

Mary.    No,  she  does  not.     It  was 

that  which  made  her  angry  with  me, 

and  then  she  tried  to  frighten  me. 

She  said  she  had  had  a  dream,  and 

that  she  knew  father  would   never 

return.     She   also   said,  that   their 

lookino^-Hass    had    fallen   down   of 

itself,  and  that  an  owl  had  screeched 

by  her  window  for  three  nights;  and 
19* 


2^  t  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

that  this  was  always  a  si  >'ii  of  death 
amonor  the  neio^hbours. 

3fiss  C.  And  is  it  possible,  Mary, 
that  you  could  believe  this  wicked 
nonsense'^ 

Mary.  I  did  not  exactly  believe 
it;  but  it  is  so  long  since  we  heard 
from  father,  that  it  made  me  sad. 
And  then  this  thought  came  over 
my  mind,  and  I  could  not  shake  it 
off. 

Miss  C.  Now,  my  dear  Mary,  pu\ 
all  such  notions  out  of  your  head  at 
once.  God  has  always  mercifully 
provided  for  us,  and  he  will  still  do 
us  good,  if  we  trust  in  him.  Be- 
sides, if  he  wished  us  to  know  what 
\vas  going  to  happen,  he  would  not 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  223 

send  an  owl  or  a  wicked  old  \^  oman 
to  tell  us.  Think  no  more  of  this, 
lest  you  offend  God;  but  go  and 
pray  to  him,  and  that  will  relieve 
youi  mind. 

So,  Mary  became  much  more 
cheerful,  and  sat  down  to  her  work 
as  usual.  The  next  day  was  very 
cold,  but  the  morning  was  clear  and 
beautiful.  Durinor  the  nio^ht  there 
had  been  rain  and  sleet,  which  had 
covered  all  the  trees  and  bushes  with 
a  coat  of  ice.  And  when  the  child- 
ren looked  out  after  sunrise,  it  seem- 
ed as  if  millions  of  diamonds  and 
other  precious  stones  were  hanging 
upon  the  branches.  The  bright 
weather  and  tie  bracing:  cold  revived 


'224  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

every  one's  spirits,  so  that  they  eii« 
]oyed  the  wintry  morning  as  much 
as  if  it  had  been  spring.  At  break 
fast,  they  conversed  w^ith  much 
cheerfulness,  and  even  Mary  was 
full  of  glee. 

After  breakfast,  they  went  to  their 
several  employments.  When  they 
came  together  again  at  dinner,  they 
took  notice  that  Mr.  Lee  was  miss- 
ing. Upon  inquiry,  it  was  found 
that  he  had  received  a  letter  in  the 
morning,  and  that  he  had  instantly 
ordered  a  carriage  at  the  public 
house.  Charles  said  he  now  remem- 
bered Mr.  Lee's  having  said  in  the 
morning,  that  several  French  pack- 
ets were  daily  expected,  and   thai 


CHARLES    CLFFFORD.  225 

tney  would  perhaps  have  news  from 
his  father.  This  made  them  all  very 
anxious,  as  Mr.  Lee  had  said  nothino: 
when  he  went  away.  Miss  Clifford 
turned  pale,  and  expressed  some  fear 
lest  the  letter  which  had  come  con- 
tained bad  new^s.  But  Jane  Lee 
was  sure  this  was  not  the  case,  for 
she  had  seen  her  father  w^hen  he 
read  the  letter ;  and  he  never  looked 
more  joyful  in  his  life.  He  was, 
indeed,  in  a  great  hurry,  and  could 
scarcely  find  time  to  say  a  word, 
but  when  he  went  away,  he  was  far 
from  seeming  melancholy. 

These  things  did  not  entirely  re- 
move the  anxiety  of  the  family. 
Miss  Clifford  shut  herself  up  in  hei 


226  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

room  all  the  afternoon.  Mary  asked 
a  thousand  mournful  questions  of  all 
the  young  people;  and  Charles,  after 
vainly  trying  to  attend  to  what  he 
was  reading,  closed  the  book,  and 
paced  up  and  down  the  floor  for 
several  hours.  At  almost  every 
turn,  he  would  look  out  of  the  win- 
dow, as  if  he  expected  some  one  : 
and  at  every  sound  of  the  carriages 
which  passed,  he  started  and  grew 
pale.  His  thoughts  were  full  of  his 
dear  absent  father.  At  last  he  re- 
membered how  often  he  had  been 
comforted  by  prayer.  He  therefore 
went  to  his  room,  and  after  reading 
several  passages  in  the  Bible,  h^ 
prayed  to  God  to  be  gracious  to  him. 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  227 

and  to  prepare  hirn  for  all  his  holy 
will.  Such  was  his  anxiety  of  mind, 
that  his  body  became  (j^nite  weak, 
and  he  trembled  through  his  whole 
frame. 

It  grew  dark,  and  yet  there  was 
nothing  seen  of  Mr.  Lee.  At  the 
tea-table  every  one  seemed  to  be 
without  appetite ;  and  when  they  sat 
down  as  usual  by  the  fire,  no  one 
proposed  to  read  aloud.  At  last  a 
carriage  was  heard  to  drive  up.  It 
stopped  ;  the  steps  were  let  down, 
and  persons  were  heard  talking 
without.  As  they  came  near,  Miss 
Clifford,  who  had  been  breathless 
with  suspense  started  up,  and  ex- 
claimed 


228  CHARLES    CLIFFCRB. 

*'  It  is  my  brother's  voice  !" 
She  rushed  to  the  door,  but 
Charles  had  been  before  her,  and 
was  clasped  in  his  father's  arms.  It 
was,  indeed,  Captain  Clifford.  He 
seized  his  little  daughter  in  a  rapture 
of  parental  affection,  and  scarcely 
could  believe  it  to  be  Mary,  so  much 
was  she  grown  and  improved.  The 
joy  of  all  was  such,  that  they  felt  as 
if  it  w^ere  a  delightful  dream,  and  no 
reality.  Mr.  Lee  had  received  a 
letter  from  Captain  Clifford,  stating 
that  he  had  just  arrived  at  New 
York,  and  desired  to  have  a  carriage 
sont  for  him  to  a  neio^hbourinor  town. 
He  chose  to  take  his  family  by  srir- 
grise. 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  229 

When  the  captain  threw  off  his 

cloak,  they  were  rejoiced  to  see  thai 

11  appearance  of  ill-health  ^vas  gone 

He  was  robust  and  fleshy,  and  his 

countenance  had  the  appearance  of 

strength  and  cheerfulness.     He  was 

amazed  and  delighted  to  see  Charles 

grown  up  to  be  almost  a  man ;  and 

as  for  his  little  Mary,  he  could  not 

suffer   her   to   be   a  moment  away 

from  his  side.     There  were  so  many 

questions  to  be  asked,  that  it  was 

very   lonij  before  either  side  could 

receiv^e  much  satisfaction.     Mr.  Lee 

and   his   family  sat  in   silence,  not 

willing  to  interrupt  the  joy  of  their 

friends,    but    expressing    by    their 

looks  how  truly  they  partook  of  the 

pleasure.     At  last  Mr.  l,ee  said, 
20 


280  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

'  My  dear  sir,  it  will  be  the  best 
plan,  I  am  sure,  for  you  to  give  us 
some  account  of  your  travels,  with- 
out any  further  questions." 

''  I  will  very  willingly  do  so," 
said  the  captain ;  "  but,  first  of  all, 
let  us  kneel  dow^n  together,  and  do 
you,  my  good  sir,  offer  up  thanks 
giving  to  God  for  this  joyful  meet- 
ing." 

All  were  gratified  vvith  this  pro- 
posal, and  when  they  arose  from 
their  knees,  there  was  scarcely  one 
whose  eyes  were  not  wet  with  tears 
of  joy.  The  following  conversation 
then  took  place. 

Capt.  Clifford.  I  suppose  you  re- 
ceived the  letters  which  I  wrote 
you  from  Marseilles  ? 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  231 

Aliss  Clifford.  One  letter  we  re- 
reived,  being  the  first  you  wrote 
after  your  arrival;  and  since  that 
time,  we  have  never  had  even  a 
syllable  to  inform  us  of  your  beino- 
alive. 

Capt.  C.  Your  anxiety  must  have 
been  great  indeed,  but  God  has,  I 
trust,  taught  us  all  to  profit  by  our 
afflictions.  It  would  occupy  the 
whole  nio^ht  for  me  to  mve  even  a 
general  account  of  all  that  I  have 
passed  through;  this  I  must  defer 
to  some  more  favourable  time. 

Charles.  Pray,  inform  us  when 
you  began  to  recover  your  health. 

Capt.  C.  As  soon  as  I  got  fairly 
out  at  sea,   I  began   to  feel  better 


232  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

By  the  time  we  reached  Marseilles, 
raj  cough  had  entirely  left  me ;  and 
though  I  was  still  weak,  yet  I  con- 
sidered myself  free  from  disease. 
The  French  physicians  recom- 
mended that  I  should  travel  into 
Spain,  and  spend  some  months  in 
the  southern  provinces,  where  the 
climate  is  very  balmy.  I  deter- 
mined to  do  so,  but  having  exposed 
myself  to  the  rains  in  crossing  the 
mountains  to  get  into  Spain,  I  was 
again  seized  with  my  cough,  and 
lay  ill  among  strangers  for  several 
months.  This  is  one  reason  why 
you  did  not  hear  from  me. 

Mr.  Lee.  We  supposed  that  tht* 
war  in  Spain  and  Portugal  pre- 
vented your  letters  from  coming. 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  233 

Capt,  C,  That  was  the  case,  for 
after  I  recovered,  I  went  into  Portu 
gal,  and  was  there  when  the  British 
army  entered  it.  I  was  imprudent 
enough  to  think,  that  as  I  w^as  an 
American,  I  should  not  be  troubled ; 
but  I  was  always  taken  for  an 
Enoflishman,  and  w^as  for  a  number 
of  months  held  as  a  prisoner  of  war. 

Mari/.  A  prisoner!  O,  father, 
did  they  put  you  in  prison?  Did 
they  put  chains  on  you  ? 

Capt.  C.  No,  my  dear.  I  was 
very  kindly  treated,  but  still  I  was 
not  suffered  to  go  about,  and  I  had 
no  opportunity  of  sending  letters.  I 
wrote  a  great  many,  but  now  I  find 
you  received  none  of  them 
20* 


234  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

Mis3  C,  But  now  all  is  made  up 
to  us,  my  dear  Ijrother.  We  have 
you  here  once  more  in  perfect  health, 
and  we  can  never  be  thankful  enough. 
But,  Mary,  what  do  you  think  now 
of  your  signs,  and  tokens,  and  pre 
sentiments  ? 

Mary  was  ashamed,  and  hung 
down  her  head.  The  captain  in- 
quired what  this  meant,  and  then 
taught  her  about  it,  as  her  aunt  had 
previously  done.  Then  there  were 
many  questions  asked  by  him  con- 
cerning the  way  in  which  his  son 
and  daughter  had  spent  their  time. 
And  it  gave  him  the  highest  pleasure 
that  they  had  both  conducted  them 
seives  so  well.     He  saw  also  tha.' 


CHARLES   CLIFFORD.  235 

Charles  was  a  serious  and  conscien- 
tious boy,  and  that  he  would  now  bo 
his  companion  in  all  that  was  good. 
The  evening  flew  swiftly  away, 
and  at  length  it  became  necessary 
for  Mr.  Lee  to  remind  them  that  it 
was  time  to  retire  to  rest.  After 
family  worship,  they  separated  for 
the  night;  but  few  of  the  family 
could  close  their  eyes  to  sleep.  Joy 
and  gratitude  agitated  their  bosoms. 
Charles  could  not  help  looking  back, 
and  reproaching  himself  for  having 
ever  doubted  the  goodness  of  the 
Lord.  He  now  remembered  how 
often  he  had  prayed  for  this  favour, 
and  God  had  now  been  better  to  him 
than  all  his  fears.    He  had  no  words 


236  CHARLES    CLIFFORD 

to  express  his  thankfulness,  bat  ho 
endeavoured  more  solemnly  than 
ever  before  to  give  himself  entirel^r 
away  to  the  service  of  God. 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  237 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

WHE^  the  next  morning  dawnea, 
it  seemed  as  if  each  one  had  endea- 
voured to  rise  before  the  rest;  for  at 
an  earlier  hour  than  commoa,  they 
were  all  gathered  for  the  worship  of 
God.  None  was  happier  than  Mary. 
She  was  very  small  when  her  father 
went  away,  and  she  had  hardly 
known  how  to  prize  him ;  but  now 
she  found  him  so  tender  and  affec- 
tionate, that  she  could  scarcely  leave 
him  at  all. 

When  they  were  sitting  around 
tlie  breakfast-table,  the  captain  turned 
to  his  good  friend,  and  said, 


233  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

"  Mr.  Lee,  I  love  your  house  very 
much,  and  I  can  never  repay  you  for 
your  kindness  to  my  family ;  yet.  I 
feel  that  this  is  not  home  ;  and  after 
so  lono[  an  absence,  I  am  stronof- 
ly  desirous  to  see  Riverbank  once 
more." 

*'I  rejoice,"  said  Charles,  "to  hear 
you  say  so.  There  is  no  place  I 
shall  ever  love  so  much.  And  you 
w^ill  be  pleased  to  see  how  neatly 
every  thing  has  been  kept." 

"Is  old  Roger  alive  and  well''" 
asked  the  captain. 

"  As  brisk  as  a  bee,"  said  Charles, 
"  and  he  will  scarcely  be  able  to 
contain  himself  when  he  hears  of 
your  re\  irn." 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  239 

"  I  shall  take  the  good  old  folks  by 
surprise,"  replied  Captain  Clifford; 
"for  we  are  all  going  in  the  carriage 
to  Riverbank,  as  soon  as  you  can  get 
yourselves  ready,  after  breakfast." 

"  O,  father  !"  said  Mary,  *'  are  we 
o^oino:  back  to  live  there?" 

"  Yes,  my  dear  ;  for  though  I  am 
sorry  to  take  you  away  from  these 
dear  friends,  yet  they  must  remem- 
ber how  long  I  have  been  without 
my  children,  and  how  long  you  have 
been  without  vour  father." 

It  took  several  hours  for  all  to  sret 
ready  to  go.  And  then  there  were 
many  tears  shed  in  taking  leave  of 
the  excellent  family  of  Mr.  Lee. 
But  the   carriagce  was  at  the  door 


240  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

and  finally  it  drove  off,  with  Captain 
Clifford,  and  his  sister,  son,  and 
daughter.  As  they  drove  along,  he 
could  not  refrain  from  lifting  up  his 
hands,  and  giving  thanks  for  the 
mercy  whicli  had  restored  him  to 
his  family.  And  every  farm-house, 
stream,  and  o^rove  seemed  to  brinor 
to  his  recollection  things  which  had 
happened  many  years  before. 

They  now  began  to  draw  near  to 
their  beloved  home.  The  fields 
which  Captain  Clifford  now  saw 
belonged  to  his  own  estate,  and 
everv  tree  and  hedo^e  looked  like  an 
old  acquaintance. 

"There  "  said  he,  "1  begin  to  see 
the  house,  and  the  rioble  old  elms  ; 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  24l 

and  yonder  I  see  the  broad  river 
stretching    itself    through   the    low 

grounds '^    And  then  he  dropped 

a  tear,  for  he  called  to  mind  the 
dearest  friend  of  his  heart,  who  had 
lived  with  him  so  long  on  this  plea- 
sant spot,  and  who  was  now,  as  he 
trusted,  in  heaven. 

When  the  carriage  began  to  draw 
near  to  the  house  itself,  several  of 
the  gardener's  children  saw  it,  and 
running  out,  discovered  who  was 
coming.  They  told  the  news,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  Roger  and  his  wife 
and  all  the  children  were  collected, 
to  welcome  Captain  CUfford  home. 
It  was  pleasing  to  see  the  tears  stand 
in  the  old  man's  eyes  as  he  shook 
21 


242  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

the  hand  of  the  captain.  And  it 
was  plain  that  the  meeting  gave 
pleasure  on  all  sides.  Captain  Clif- 
ford could  scarcely  be  satisfied  with 
looking.  While  Roger  was  kindling 
a  fire  in  the  dining-room,  he  stroll- 
ed over  the  lawn,  which  was  now 
frozen,  and  through  the  grove  of 
oaks.  He  walked  in  the  gardens,  and 
descended  the  steps  to  the  edge  of  the 
river.  He  gazed  upon  the  lovely 
prospect  which  he  had  surveyed  so 
often  in  other  days,  and  could  not 
help  saying, 

"  My  children,  see  how  good  the 
Lord  is,  how  much  better  than  we 
deserve,  and  even  than  we  expect. 
For  1  dare  say  you  often  feared  that 
you  should  never  see  me  again." 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  243 

**  We  did,  indeed,"  said  Charles  , 
**  and  I  hope  we  shall  learn  from 
this,  always  to  trust  in  Providence.'' 

"  That  is  riorht,"  said  his  father 
*'  I  also  had  many  fears  that  I  should 
never  live   to   see  you  again;   but 
nere  we  are  in  happiness  and  love." 

Then  they  went  into  the  house, 
and  passed  through  each  apartment. 
The  captain  was  filled  with  plea- 
sure at  the  sight  of  his  books  and 
his  study.  A  plain  dinner  was  soon 
provided  for  them,  and  before  many 
hours,  they  all  seemed  as  much  at 
home  there  as  if  they  had  never  been 
absent. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  give  a  par- 
ticular account  of  the  manner  in 


244  CHARLES    CLIrFORD. 

which  they  passed  their  time.  Cap 
tain  Clifford  spent  some  weeks  in 
looking  over  the  affairs  of  his  farm^ 
and  receivino^  the  visits  of  his  neio^h- 
hours.  Then  he  began  to  make  his 
arrangements  for  the  way  in  which 
they  were  all  to  be  employed.  Miss 
Clifford  was  to  have  the  manage- 
ment of  the  family,  and  the  care  of 
Mary,  who  was  to  be  instructed  in 
every  thing  necessary  to  housekeep- 
ing. The  captain  intended  to  con- 
tinue the  instruction  of  his  children 
in  useful  knowledg^e.  He  meant  to 
keep  Charles  with  him,  until  he 
should  be  fitted  for  some  kind  of 
active  life.  Especially,  he  took  care 
l.h  it  it  should  be  a  Christian  family, 


CHARLES   CLIFFORD.  245 

and  that  every  thing  should  be 
conducted  according  to  the  com- 
mands of  God. 

After  they  had  been  well  settled 
for  a  little  time,  they  received  a  visit 
from  Mr.  Lee's  family,  whom  they 
loved  as  if  they  had  been  relations. 
And  for  many  years,  the  two  fami- 
lies used  to  go  very  frequently  to  see 
one  another.  Charles  also  invited 
several  of  his  school-mates  to  come 
and  spend  some  time  at  Riverbank, 
particularly  Reynolds  and  Burke, 
who  stayed  there  several  weeks. 

But  I  must  now  bring  my  history 
to  a  close.  The  reader  has  an  ac- 
count of  a  youthful  Christian,  and 
It  is  not  needful  to  follow  him  into 

manhood.     But  as  there  are  several 
21* 


246  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

important  lessons  which  may  be 
learned  from  this  narrative,  I  shall 
close  with  some  account  of  these. 

The  young  reader  will  here  take 
notice  what  a  blessed  thing  it  is  to 
have  the  instructions  of  pious  pa- 
rents. Charles  Clifford  never  forgot 
the  truths  which  were  tauo^ht  him 
by  his  pious  mother.  And  her  dying 
words  made  an  impression  upon  his 
heart  which  was  never  lost. 

This  narration  shows  also  that 
those  who  serve  God  are  not  free 
from  afflictions.  The  persons  who 
have  been  here  mentioned  passed 
through  verj  ^reat  trials.  But  these 
sufferings  proved  to  be  blessings 
through  the  grace  of  God,  and  made 
them    more   watchful    and    devout 


CHARLES    CLIFFORD.  247 

than  they  would  otherwise  have 
been.  So  that  the  Lord  turned  all 
their  afflictions  into  rejoicing  at  last. 

The  story  of  Charles  Cliff oid 
shows  that  no  young  man  will  really 
be  a  loser  by  trying  to  do  what  God 
commands.  Though  he  may  be 
opposed  and  ridiculed,  yet  in  the 
end  even  his  enemies  will  approve 
of  his  conduct. 

We  perceive,  too,  how  much  good 
may  be  done,  even  by  a  very  young 
person,  if  he  truly  desires  to  glorify 
God.  By  a  holy  example,  by  reli- 
gious conversation,  by  teaching  in 
Sunday-schools,  or  in  some  similai 
way,  every  one  who  reads  this  may 
be  useful. 


248  CHARLES    CLIFFORD. 

It  also  appears  that  it  is  true  reli- 
gion which  makes  a  happy  family. 
How  much  happier  was  the  house- 
hold at  Riverbank  than  those  fami- 
lies which  are  irreligious  and  care- 
less !  Even  when  they  were  in 
much  anxiety  and  distress,  they 
were  kept  from  despondency  by 
trust  in  the  promises  of  God. 

Lastly,  if  there  is  any  thing  in 
the  example  of  Charles  Clifford 
which  is  excellent  and  lovely,  it  is 
the  desire  and  prayer  of  the  writer 
that  it  may  be  imitated  by  every 
voung  person  who  reads  this  book. 

THE   END. 


Entftitved  ti-iBiSe  »g'".c . 


•  Faftier  SifftSrt  Blovrly  bent  his  a^ed  littibs.ar.d  ?ai  dovmby  die  side  of  a  tocV' 


J/ 

LETTERS 


TO   A 


YOUNGER   BROTHER, 


ON    VARIOUS    SUBJECTS, 


RBLATINQ  TO 


THE  VIRTUES  AND  VICES,  DUTIES  AND 
DANGERS  OF  YOUTH. 


REVISED  BY  THE  OOMMITTKE  OP  PtTBLICATION  OF  THB 
AaiERICAN  SUNDAY-SCHOOL  UNION. 


AMERICAN  SUNDAY-SCHOOL  UNION. 

33!)ilaticlpl)ia: 

146  CHESTNUT  STBBBT 


Entered  according  lo  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1838,  by 
Paul  Beck,  Jr.,  Treasurer,  in  trust  for  the  American  Sunday- 
school  Union,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the 
Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


CONTENTS. 


tETTER  PAG* 

I.   On  reading  the  Scriptures f 

n.   Gratitude  to  Parents 1? 

in.    Shortness  of  Life 2^, 

IV.   Holidays 30 

V.   Amusements 35 

VI.   Bodily  Exercise 44 

VII.   Early  Rising 51 

Vin.   Habit  of  Diligence 61 

IX.   Learn  something  every  hour 71 

X.   Three  self-taught  Scotch  Lads 83 

XI.   Formation  of  Habits 93 

XII.   Dangers  of  evil  Company 101 

XIIL   Friendships 109 

XIV.   Good  Example 118 

XV.   Truth  and  Falsehood 12? 

XVI.   Independence 134 

XVIL   False  Shame 139 

XVIIL   Evil  Speaking 14? 

XIX.   Benevolence 154 

XX.   Secret  Prayer 164 

XXI.   The  Great  Concern 171 


LETTERS 


TO   A 


YOUNGER   BROTHER. 


LETTER  I. 

READING   THE   SCRIPTURES. 

My  dear  h'Otlier, — You  gave  me 
much  gratification  when  you  in- 
formed me  that  you  were  attentive  to 
the  reading  of  the  Scriptures.  And 
I  rejoice  to  find  you  inquiring  how 
you  may  continue  to  read  them  with 
greater  profit.  I  shall  answer  your 
questions,  and  shall  also,  from  time 
to  time,  write  you  some  directions 
on  other  things ;  such  as  your  learn- 
ing, your  manners,  and  your  amuse- 
ments. I  take  your  questions  as 
you  ask  them. 

1*  5 


6  LETTERS   TO   A 

1.  Ought  I  to  read  the  Bible  in 
regular  order  ? 

I  think  you  ought.  Not  that  this 
should  be  your  only  way  of  reading  * 
but  every  day  you  should  be  going 
forward.  Suppose  you  were  roam- 
iTig  through  a  beautiful  estate,  such 
as  the  place  on  the  Delaware  where 
Joseph  Bonaparte  resides ;  and  that 
your  object  was  to  learn  all  about 
it.  You  might  pursue  two  methods. 
First,  you  might  set  out  at  one 
of  the  gatps,  and  follow  the  first 
path ;  then  strike  off  into  a  grove, 
and  walk  a  few  steps ;  then  branch 
into  a  garden;  then  return  to  see 
the  fishpond  or  the  statue.  You 
might  spend  a  day  or  two  in  this  em- 
ployment, and  at  the  end  of  it  you 
would  have  seen  a  great  many  beau- 
tiful things.  But  while  you  had 
looked  at  some  of  these  four  or  five 
times  over,  there  would  be  a  great 
number  of  spots  which  you  had  not 


0 

YOUNGER   BROTHER.  gf 

seen  at  all.  Instead  of  looking  ten 
times  at  the  observatory,  you  might 
nave  looked  at  ten  different  scenes. 
What  was  the  matter?  I  will  tell 
you  ;  you  did  not  view  it  in  regular 
order.  You  had  no  plan.  So  you 
might  spend  years  in  reading  the 
Scriptures ;  and  at  the  end  of  them, 
you  would  have  learned  many  whole 
chapters  or  even  books  of  the  Bible ; 
yet  there  might  be  some  very  useful 
parts  which  you  would  know  nothing 
about.  Why  ?  Because  you  did  not 
read  in  regular  order. 

Secondly :  You  might  get  an  exact 
plan  of  Bonaparte's  grounds,  like  a 
little  map,  on  a  piece  of  paper ;  then 
you  might  divide  it  off  into  portions, 
and  say,  "  I  can  do  so  much  to-day, 
and  so  much  to-morrow,  &c."  Then 
you  might  go  over  every  step  of  the 
fine  park  and  gardens,  look  at  every 
bridge,  and  examine  every  curiosity. 
You    would    have  surveyed   every 


8  LETTERS   TO    A 

single  beauty.  But  what  makes  the 
difference  between  these  methods? 
You  viewed  it  this  second  time  in 
regular  order.  Thus,  too,  you  ought 
to  read  the  Scriptures.  And  if  you 
lay  down  a  plan,  and  take  care  to 
observe  it,  and  keep  it  up  for  a  few 
years,  you  will  know  something 
about  the  whole  Bible.  Why?  Be- 
cause you  read  it  in  regular  order. 

2.  Ought  I  to  commit  verses  to 
memory  ? 

Most  certainly  you  ought ;  at  least 
half  a  dozen  every  day.  The  more 
you  learn  by  rote,  the  more  you  will 
be  able  to  learn. 

If  you  get  six  verses  every  morn- 
ing, for  one  year,  you  will  have 
learned  more  than  two  thousand 
verses,  or  more  than  sixty  chapters. 
But  this  is  not  all.  At  the  end  of  the 
year,  it  will  be  as  easy  for  you  to 
commit  twenty  verses  to  memory,  as 
it  is  now  for  you  to  commit  half  a 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  9 

dozen.  The  best  plan  I  know  of  is 
to  learn  your  verses  partially  just 
before  you  prepare  to  go  to  bed. 
Think  of  them  as  you  are  falling 
asleep,  repeat  them  as  you  wake  the 
next  morning ;  and  after  your  morn- 
ing devotions,  learn  them  perfectly. 
This  you  will  find,  when  you  go 
further  in  your  Latin,  was  the  advice 
of  the  ancients,  and  if  you  lay  to 
heart  what  you  learn,  it  will  be  the 
greatest  treasure.  Nobody  can  rob 
you  of  it.  You  may  be  shipwrecked, 
or  robbed,  or  imprisoned,  but  no  one 
can  take  this  out  of  your  memory. 

3.  Ought  I  to  read  the  Bible  for 
amusement  ? 

Not  exactly.  If  you  mean  read- 
ing it  with  a  thoughtless,  careless 
mind,  certainly  not.  But  if  you 
mean,  reading  its  beautiful  narra- 
tives, and  its  lively  descriptions, 
because  you  admire  them,  and  be- 
cause it  refreshes  and  delights  you, 


10  LETTERS   TO    A 

certainly  it  is  right  for  you  to  read  it 
thus.  I  have  just  been  reading  again 
the  story  of  Joseph,  in  the  book  of  Ge- 
nesis, and  I  find  it  more  charming 
than  any  thing  I  ever  saw  in  any  his- 
tory or  romance.  Now  there  is  no 
harm  in  your  going  to  the  Bible  for 
pleasure,  rather  than  to  any  other 
book.  It  is  wonderful  that  more  per- 
sons do  not  find  out  how  much  inte- 
resting history  the  Scriptures  contain. 
Just  think  of  the  life  of  David.  It  is 
far  more  striking  than  that  of  Peter 
the  Great,  or  Baron  Trenck.  Yet 
scarcely  any  one  opens  the  Bible  to 
find  rational  entertainment. 

So  I  have  answered  your  ques- 
tions :  and  now  I  shall  add  a  few 
remarks  of  my  own.  There  are  two 
books  in  the  Bible  which  are  exceed- 
ingly interesting  and  useful.  One 
was  written  in  poetry ;  the  other  in 
prose.  The  greater  part  of  one 
was  composed  by  a  great  king ;  the 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  11, 

greater  part  of  the  other  by  his  son, 
another  great  king.  One  was  by  a 
warrior,  a  musician,  and  a  poet ;  the 
other  was  by  the  wisest  monarch 
who  ever  lived.  In  these  two  books 
you  will  find  directions  for  your  devo- 
tions and  your  conduct.  The  Psalms 
are  noble  pieces  of  prayer,  thanks- 
giving, and  praise ;  the  Proverbs  are 
short  sayings,  every  one  of  which  is 
full  of  meaning,  and  rich  with  wis- 
dom. When  you  are  older,  I  would 
recommend  to  you  to  read  each  of 
these  books  through  once  a  month. 
The  book  of  Psalms  is  already  di- 
vided into  portions,  for  every  morn- 
ing and  evening,  in  the  book  I  gave 
you.  And  the  book  of  Proverbs  has 
just  as  many  chapters  as  there  are 
days  in  the  long  months,  one  for 
every  day.  Scarcely  any  day  will 
pass  in  which  you  will  not  find  an 
opportunity  to  govern  your  speech  or 
your  behaviour  by  some  one  of  these 


12  LETTERS    TO    A 

short  maxims.  And  as  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ  is  the  great  subject  of 
many  psalms,  you  will  learn  from 
the  New  Testament  how  to  find 
him  every-where  in  your  daily 
reading.  '. 

Farewell,  my  dear  boy.  Attend 
to  your  studies  and  your  health,  and, 
above  all,  offer  up  your  heart  to  God^ 

I  am  your  affectionate  brother, 

James. 


LETTER  II. 

GRATITUDE    TO   PARENTS. 

My  dear  brother, — I  write  you  oTx 
this  subject  thus  early  in  my  course 
of  letters,  because  I  think  gratitude 
to  parents  is  the  foundation  of  a  great 
many  virtues;  and  one  of  the  first 
and  most  distressing  symptoms  of  a 
decline  from  the  paths  of  virtue  is 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  13 

the  unkind  or  contemptuous  treat- 
ment of  parents.  The  first  com- 
mandment with  promise  is  the  com- 
mand to  honour  our  parents,  and  our 
earhest  duties  are  those  which  we 
have  to  render  to  our  father  and  our 
mother.  You  will  find  counsels  on 
this  subject  scattered  through  my 
letters;  but  as  young  people  are  apt 
to  be  impressed  by  narrative,  I  will 
give  you  a  little  history,  which  I  am 
sure  you  will  find  interesting.  The 
story  is  connected  with  the  beautiful 
engraving  at  the  beginning  of  these 
letters. 

There  lived  two  poor  men  in  a 
very  rongh  and  mountainous  coun- 
try, where  they  kept  their  flocks, 
and  cultivated  such  little  spots  of 
earth  as  they  could  find  among  the 
rocks  and  crags.  It  was  a  region 
abounding  in  rapid  streams,  which 
poured  in  torrents  from  the  preci- 
pices.   There  was  scarcely  any  point 

2 


:14  LETTERS    TO   A 

from  which  you  might  not  see  the 
tops  of  mountains  covered  with  snow. 
The  -hills  were  so  rough  that  it  was 
difficult  and  dangerous  to  travel  even 
a  mile,  from  one  hamlet  to  another. 
Carriages  were  almost  unknown,  and 
most  of  the  inhabitants  travelled  on 
foot,  and  carried  their  goods  upon 
mules  or  asses. 

Ulrich  and  Godfrey,  the  two  men 
I  have  spoken  of,  had  large  families, 
and  in  each  of  these  was  a  little  boy 
about  eleven  years  of  age.  Tliese 
boys  often  played  together,  but  they 
were  exceedingly  unlike  in  temper. 
Little  Ulrich  was  sullen  and  rude; 
while  his  playmate  Godfrey  was 
kind  and  gentle.  Ulrich's  mother 
found  it  very  hard  to  manage  the 
stubborn  little  boy.  He  was  undu- 
tiful  and  unkind,  and  gave  his  pa- 
rents many  hours  of  anxiety.  Some- 
times when  he  was  sent  to  look 
for  the  cattle,  which  strayed  in  the 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  15 

mountains,  he  would  go  to  some  of 
the  neighbours'  houses,  and  stay 
several  days,  while  his  mother  would 
be  in  the  greatest  alarm,  lest  some 
accident  had  befallen  him.  The 
ungrateful  boy  seemed  never  to  think 
of  what  might  be  the  cares  of  his 
parents.  He  did  not  reflect  on  the 
hours  and  days  and  months  of  solici- 
tude which  his  poor  mother  had  felt 
on  his  account ;  how  she  had  watched 
by  his  pillow  when  he  slept,  and 
nursed  him  when  he  was  sick,  and 
provided  his  food,  and  sat  up  many 
a  long  night  to  make  or  mend  his 
clothes.  Forgetful  of  all  this,  Ulrich 
would  be  sulky  and  sour  when  she 
spoke  to  him,  and  would  even  re- 
proach her  in  the  harshest  and  most 
undutiful  language. 

Little  Godfrey  was  just  the  reverse 
of  all  this.  He  loved  his  parents 
most  tenderly,  and  delighted  to  obey 
them  in  every  particular.     Conse- 


16  LETTERS    TO    A 

quently  he  was  far  happier  himself, 
and  made  all  around  him  happy. 

One  afternoon,  Ulrich's  mother 
had  directed  him  to  do  some  little 
piece  of  work  which  was  not  quite 
agreeable  to  him,  and  the  bad  boy  as 
usual  flew  into  a  passion,  and  called 
his  mother  several  hard  names.  The 
poor  woman  wept  as  if  she  would 
break  her  heart,  but  this  only  made 
him  rage  more  furiously.  At  last,  giv- 
ing his  mother  a  look  more  like  that 
of  a  wild  beast  than  a  son,  he  dashed 
out  of  the  house,  muttering  to  him- 
self that  he  would  never  return  again. 
This  was  as  foolish  as  it  was  wicked, 
for  the  silly  child  had  no  place  where 
he  could  live  for  any  length  of  time ; 
and  he  might  have  known  that  his 
father,  whose  temper  was  as  violent 
as  his  own,  and  who  was  often  in 
drink,  would  soon  drag  him  back 
home,  besides  chastising  him.  But 
people  in  a  passion  seldom  stop  to 


YOUNGER    BROTHER.  1? 

consider,  and  Ulrich  hastened  away, 
and  began  to  ascend  one  of  the  steep 
mountain  paths.  As  he  advanced, 
his  mind  was  drawn  away,  by  de- 
grees, to  other  thoughts.  At  one 
moment  he  would  pause  to  examine 
the  scanty  flowers  which  peeped  out 
from  among  the  rocks;  at  another, 
he  would  stand  and  listen  to  the  dis- 
tant waterfall,  or  the  hunter's  rifle ; 
and  then  he  would  be  attracted 
by  the  circling  flight  of  the  Alpine 
eagle.  Amidst  these  thoughts  his 
conscience  began  to  whisper  to  him, 
"Ulrich,  Ulrich,  you  are  a  wicked 
boy!  You  are  breaking  the  heart 
of  your  affectionate  mother!  Go 
back,  go  back!" 

As  Ulrich  sat  by  a  tall  cliff,  look- 
ing westward  to  where  the  sun  was 
going  behind  a  range  of  blue  moun- 
tains, he  thought  he  heard  voices  in 
the  winding  path  above  him.  ''I 
think  I  know  that  voice,"  said  he;  "it 


18  LETTERS    TO   A 

must  be  old  Father  Simon,  coming 
down  to  the  valley.  Poor  old  man!- 
I  wonder  that  he  does  not  fall  and 
break  his  neck  among  these  sharp 
crags."  I  ought  here  to  mention, 
that  Father  Simon  was  a  very  aged 
man,  more  than  eighty  years  old 
who  used  to  travel  about  the  moun 
tains  with  the  aid  of  a  little  dog ;  the 
faithful  animal  ran  before,  with  a 
little  bell  at  his  collar,  and  the  old 
man,  who  was  totally  blind,  felt  his 
way  with  a  long  staff,  and  held  a 
string  which  was  fastened  around 
the  dog's  neck.  But  on  the  day  I 
have  mentioned,  the  poor  little  dog 
had  been  disabled  by  a  large  stone 
which  fell  upon  his  back  from  one 
of  the  crags,  and  Father  Simon  was 
forced  to  sit  down  and  wait  some 
hours  for  assistance.  It  was  indeed 
his  voice  which  Ulrich  heard,  but  to 
whom  was  he  speaking?  Ulrich 
listened,  and  soon  perceived  that  it 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  19 

was  a  child's  voice,  and  a  moment 
after,  as  the  blind  man  came  into 
sight,  by  turning  a  corner,  Ulrich 
saw  that  he  was  guided  by  his  play- 
mate, little  Godfrey.  "Step  this 
way.  Father  Simon,"  said  the  kind 
little  boy,  as  he  helped  the  poor  old 
man  along.  "  Now  lean  on  my 
shoulder,  and  put  your  right  foot 
down  into  this  hollow."  "  May  Hea- 
ven reward  you,  my  dear  boy,"  said 
the  old  man ;  "  happy  are  the  parents 
who  have  such  a  son.  My  poor 
sightless  eyes  cannot  behold  your 
face,  but  I  hear  the  gentle  tones  of 
your  voice.  I  am  weary ;  let  us  rest 
for  a  few  moments  here,  where  the 
ground  seems  level."  So  saying, 
Father  Simon  slowly  bent  his  aged 
limbs,  and  sat  down  by  the  side  of  a 
rock.  At  the  same  moment  Godfrey 
recognised  his  neighbour  Ulrich,  who 
was  seated  a  few  paces  off,  and  whom 
he  was  rejoiced  to  meet. 


LETTERS    TO   A 

•  ^^I  have  said  that  Ulrich  was  in  no 
very  pleasant  state  of  mind.  Con- 
science was  piercing  him  for  his 
filial  ingratitude ;  and  at  such  a  mo- 
ment to  see  his  friend  Godfrey  en- 
gaged in  an  act  of  kindness  made  him 
feel  still  more  guilt}^  He  could  not 
help  saying  to  himself,  "  See  what 
Godfrey  is  doing  for  that  old  man. 
He  is  kinder  to  a  poor  stranger  than 
I  am  to  my  own  mother.  Indeed,  I 
must  be  a  very  wicked  boy.^^  As 
these  thoughts  passed  in  his  mind, 
he  drew  near  to  the  others,  and 
Godfrey  told  Father  Simon  that  this 
was  one  of  his  friends  and  play 
mates.  "  Well,  my  children,'^  said 
Father  Simon,  "  if  you  will  rest  with 
me  here  for  a  short  time,  I  will  try 
to  say  something  to  you  which  ma^/ 
be  useful.  This  little  boy  has  been 
very  kind  to  a  poor  old  blind  man. 
he  has  perhaps  saved  my  life,  foi 
since  I  have  lost  my  faithful  Argus 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  21 

I  have  no  friend  left,  and  I  might 
have  lain  and  perished  on  the  moun- 
tain. My  child,  God  sees  and  ap- 
proves such  conduct,  and  he  will 
reward  it.  The  command  of  God  is, 
*  Thou  slialt  rise  up  before  the  hoary 
head,  and  honour  the  face  of  the  old 
man!  I  hope  you  remember  what 
became  of  the  youth  who  cried  after 
an  old  prophet,  'Go  up,  thou  bald 
head !'  When  I  find  a  child  who  is 
very  kind  to  poor  and  aged  persons, 
I  feel  sure  that  he  is  affectionate  and 
obedient  to  his  parents." 

Ulrich  felt  very  badly  when  he 
heard  this,  for  it  seemed  as  if  the  old 
man  had  known  what  was  passing 
in  his  mind.  Father  Simon  went 
on  to  say:  ^'I  often  say  these  things 
to  young  people,  because  I  remember 
with  sorrow  many  things  I  might 
have  done  for  my  parents  when  I 
was  a  child ;  and  I  think  of  them  the 
more  because  Providence  has  left 


22  LETTERS   TO   A 

me  m  my  old  age  without  son,  or 
grandson,  to  take  care  of  me.  Child- 
ren, mark  my  words :  if  you  desire 
to  lead  happy  lives,  obey  your  pa- 
rents ;  love  them,  honour  them,  and 
serve  them.  Never  let  the  evil  one 
tempt  you  to  give  them  a  harsh  word 
or  an  angry  look." 

Little  Godfrey  looked  up,  and  said, 
"Father  Simon,  I  think  none  but  a 
very  wicked  boy  could  be  cross  to 
his  dear  father  and  mother."  Ul- 
rich's  face  became  as  red  as  crimson 
at  these  words,  because  he  knew 
that  he  was  just  such  a  boy.  Father 
Simon  went  on  to  say  :  "  If  you  wish 
to  make  your  parents  happy  in  their 
old  age,  take  pains  to  please  them  in 
every  way.  'A  ivise  son  mdketh  a 
glad  father;  hut  a  foolish  son  is  the 
heaviness  of  his  mother^  They  are 
the  best  friends  you  can  ever  have  in 
this  world ;  never  let  your  conduct 
give  them  pain.    'A  foolish  son  is  a 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  23 

grief  to  his  father,  and  a  bitterness  to 
her  that  hare  him.''  When  parents 
become  old  and  weak,  their  greatest 
comfort  is  in  their  children ;  be  sure 
to  attend  to  their  wishes.  'Hearken 
unto  thy  father  that  begat  thee,  and 
despise  not  thy  mother  when  she  is  old.'' 
For  if  you  should  grow  up  in  wick- 
edness, and  treat  your  parents  with 
contempt,  you  will  fall  under  that 
awful  curse :  '  TJie  eye  that  mocketh 
at  his  father,  and  despiseth  to  obey  his 
mother,  the  ravens  of  the  valley  shall 
pick  it  out,  and  the  young  eagles  shall 
eat  it.''  The  whole  course  of  God's 
providence  will  be  as  much  against 
you,  as  if  the  birds  of  prey  which 
you  see  every  day  in  these  mountains 
were  to  turn  against  you,  and  tear  you 
with  their  talons." 

Here  the  old  man,  being  somewhat 
rested,  arose,  and  taking  Godfrey's 
hand,  proceeded  on  his  way.  Ulrich 
sat  still  under  the  rock ;  he  was  agi 


24  LETTERS   TO   A 

tated  and  alarmed,  so  that  his  limbs 
trembled.  At  length  he  suddenly 
arose,  and  said  to  himself,  "I  will  go 
back  to  my  mother."  He  quickened 
his  steps,  as  he  saw  that  night  w^as 
coming  on,  and  soon  reached  his 
father's  cottage.  As  he  went  along, 
he  thought  a  great  deal  about  what 
he  should  say  to  his  offended  parent. 
He  slowly  lifted  the  latch,  and  found 
her  sitting  in  her  little  room  mending 
his  clothes.  Her  eyes  were  red  with 
weeping,  and  she  was  so  grieved  by 
his  conduct  that  she  hid  her  face  in 
her  hands,  and  was  unable  to  speak. 
O,  what  a  return  was  this  for  a  mo- 
ther's love  and  kindness !  Ulrich 
was  moved  to  tears.  He  fell  upon 
her  neck,  and  begged  her  forgive- 
ness. She  put  her  arms  round  him, 
and  forgetting  all  his  unkind  looks 
and  reproachful  words,  pressed  him 
to  her  bosom.  Ulrich  promised  to 
love  and  obey  her,  and  if  at  any  time 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  25 

he  felt  for  a  moment  disposed  to  be 
angry  or  sullen,  he  remembered  the 
promises  and  tears  of  that  day,  and 
the  words  of  Father  Simon. 
Your  affectionate  brother, 

James. 


LETTER  III. 

LIFE   IS    SHORT. 

My  dear  brother,— Life  has  been 
compared  to  the  flight  of  swift  ships, 
and  of  an  eagle  hastening  to  the 
prey.     It  is  a  span,  a  hand's  breadth, 
a  dream.     This  is  the  account  which 
the  Scriptures  give  of  human  life, 
and  if  you  will  consider  it,  you  will 
see  much  in  it  to  make  you  alter 
your    present    course    of   conduct. 
When   a  youth  looks  forward,   he 
almost  always  thinks  of  long  life. 
He  thinks  somewhat  in  this  way 
3 


26  LETTERS   TO   A 

"  I  am  now  thirteen,  or  fifteen,  or 
seventeen  years  old,  (as  the  case  may 
be.)  In  so  many  years  more  I  shall 
be  of  age.  Then  I  shall  be  my  own 
master.  I  will  do  so  and  so  ;  I  will 
try  such  and  such  schemes ;  I  shall 
be  happy." 

Mistaken  boy  [  How  different  from 
this  does  life  seem  to  the  old  man  f 
He  looks  back,  and  says  to  himself: 
^'  It  was  but  the  other  day  that  } 
was  a  boy.  I  was  then  full  of  hope 
Life  seemed  a  long  and  flowery  path. 
I  have  mistaken  it.  It  is  a  short 
journey,  through  a  vale  of  tears." 

Frcan  this,  we  all  learn  to  say  with 
Moses  in  the  ninetieth  psalm  :  ''So 
teach  UrS  to  number  our  days,  that 
we  may  apply  our  hearts  unto  wis- 
dom." 

Is  life  siiort?  Then,  my  dear 
brother,  whatever  you  have  to  do  in 
life  ought  %Q  be  done  soon.  You 
ought  to  hegin  at  once.     If  you  were 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  27 

put  to  a  hard  task,  and  an  hour-glass 
were  put  by  you,  and  you  were  told, 
"  This  sand  runs  out  exactly  in  an 
hour,  and  at  the  end  of  the  hour 
I  will  come  to  see  whether  you 
have  done  your  task ;" — how  anxious 
would  you  be  not  to  lose  a  moment ! 
Just  as  anxious  should  you  now  be 
to  make  a  good  use  of  your  time. 
If  the  whole  of  life  is  but  a  span, 
then  the  little  portions  of  it,  which 
we  call  childhood,  youth,  middle 
age,  old  age,  are  short  indeed.  The 
little  portion  of  youth  will  soon  be 
over;  yet  in  this  very  season  you 
are  laying  a  foundation  for  all  the 
rest  of  your  days.  If  the  young  twig 
grows  crooked,  the  full  grown  bough 
will  have  the  same  direction.  Think 
of  this. 

Youth  is  the  gathering  time.  You 
must  now  be  busy  in  laying  up 
useful  knowledge  for  time  to  come. 
Youth    is    the  seed-time.      If  the 


28  LETTERS    TO    A 

farmer  lets  the  time  of  sowing  pass 
by,  he  will  have  no  harvest  in  sum- 
mer, and  must  starve.  If  you  do 
not  fix  in  your  mind  the  seeds  of 
truth  and  wisdom  now,  you  will  be 
ignorant  and  foolish  when  you  grow- 
to  be  a  man,  if  you  ever  do  be- 
come a  man.  For  you  must  never 
forget,  that  multitudes  never  reach 
manhood. 

Every  thing  you  do,  however 
trifling  it  may  seem,  has  its  bearing 
upon  your  future  life.  You  will 
reap  as  you  sow,  and  every  moment 
you  are  sowing  some  good  or  some 
evil.  It  seems  to  you  no  great 
matter  to  trifle  away  an  afternoon ; 
but  you  are  thereby  getting  a  habit 
of  idleness — you  are  losing  just 
so  much  of  life — you  are  letting  just 
so  much  sand  run  down  without 
attending  to  your  task. 

The  great  thing  for  which  you 
were  made  is,  to  please  God,  and  to 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  29 

enjoy  his  love.  Life  is  short; 
therefore,  do  not  put  off  the  serAdce 
of  God  until  to-morrow.  If  life  is  so 
short,  you  ought  to  give  God  the 
whole  of  it.  Surely,  you  will  not 
rob  him  of  the  spring  of  your  days — 
the  very  best  part  of  them.  He  has 
as  much  right  to  this  day  as  to  the 
morrow  ;  he  demands  your  youth  as 
well  as  your  old  age.  Follow  the 
example  of  our  adorable  Redeemer, 
who  said,  ''  I  must  work  the  works 
of  him  that  sent  me  while  it  is  day ; 
the  night  cometh  when  no  man  can 
work."  This  is  what  few  boys  think 
much  of;  but  those  who  do  are 
wiser  and  happier  when  they  become 
older ;  and  none  enjoy  life  so  much 
as  those  who  have  early  given  their 
aifections  to  Christ. 

Your  affectionate  brother, 

James. 


30  .     LETTERS   TO   A 

LETTER  IV. 

HOLIDAYS. 

Mt/  dear  hrotJier^ — I  well  remem- 
ber how  much  I  used  to  think  of 
holidays  when  I  was  a  boy.  But  it 
pains  me  to  consider  how  much  of 
this  precious  time  was  altogether 
wasted.  But  you  will  say,  "  Must 
we  study  all  the  time  ?  May  we 
never  play?" 

Surely,  I  do  not  mean  this.  No 
one  can  be  a  greater  friend  to  recrea- 
tion than  myself.  I  consider  it  not 
only  harmless,  but  absolutely  necfe*s- 
sary.  But  what  I  mean  is,  that  &\  ^cn 
in  play  one  should  not  be  foolish  or 
unreasonable.  There  is  such  a  th  n^ 
as  being  profitably  employed,  at  he 
same  time  that  one  is  entertai  d 
And  there  is  a  certain  way  of  sp     J 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  31 

ing  holidays  so   as  to  get  neither 
profit  nor  recreation. 

Gustavus  was  a  schoolmate  of 
mine,  and  a  more  idle  lad  I  never 
knew.  Half  his  time  seemed  to  be 
spent  in  lounging  over  his  books, 
yawning,  stretching,  and  wishing 
that  the  play-hour  had  come.  But 
how  did  he  use  this  time  of  recrea- 
tion when  it  came  ?  I  think  I  see 
him  even  now.  When  the  Saturday 
afternoon,  or  any  of  the  regular  holi- 
days came,  Gustavus  seemed  as 
much  at  a  loss  as  when  he  was  at  his 
desk  in  the  school-room.  He  had  no 
plan  laid  out,  no  arrangements  made 
for  his  sports  or  exercise.  Now,  1 
like  a  boy  to  have  some  method  even 
in  his  play.  Gustavus  used  to  saun 
ter  along  the  road  on  his  way  home- 
ward, as  if  he  scarcely  knew  what 
to  do  with  himself  Then  he  would 
put  away  his  books,  and  come  out 
again.     What  he  was  going  to  do 


32  LETTERS   TO   A 

next  he  could  not  tell.  Sometimes 
he  would  lie  under  the  trees,  or 
hang  upon  the  gate,  or  lounge  in 
the  lanes,  waiting  for  some  of  the 
other  boys  to  come  along.  Gustavus 
was  thus  more  uncomfortable  than 
if  he  had  been  at  his  books.  And  at 
the  end  of  a  holiday,  he  used  to  feel 
more  exhausted  and  worn  out,  than 
his  younger  brother  who  had  been 
working  in  the  field.  There  is  no 
profit  in  such  holidays  as  these : 
they  encourage  idleness  and  irreso- 
lution. You  need  not  be  idle  even 
at  your  plays. 

Take  another  picture  of  another 
boy.  Matthew  went  to  the  same 
school.  While  he  was  at  his  desk 
he  was  always  employed,  and  scarce- 
ly ever  looked  away  from  his  lesson. 
His  whole  soul  was  engaged  in  it. 
But  when  school  was  out,  and  books 
put  away,  there  was  not  a  livelier 
fellow  in  the  whole  school  than  Mat- 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  33 

thew :  holidays  were  full  of  pleasure 
to  him,  and  full  of  profit,  too.  He 
always  had  something  planned  be- 
forehand. Sometimes  he  had  formed 
a  party  to  climb  the  neighbouring 
mountains,  or  to  build  a  fort  in  the 
edge  of  the  woods,  or  to  visit  some  of 
the  villages ;  sometimes  he  used  to 
work  for  hours  with  the  carpenter's 
tools  which  his  uncle  had  given  him ; 
and  thus  he  received  exercise  as  well 
as  amusement.  But  what  he  chiefly 
/oved  was  to  go  with  his  father  to 
walk  in  the  woods,  and  gather 
flowers,  and  learn  the  names  of  trees, 
plants,  and  minerals. 

You  will  now  be  able  to  under- 
stand me,  when  I  say,  do  not  waste 
your  holidays.  One  of  the  most  im- 
portant ways  of  spending  them,  is  in 
taking  active  exercise, — a  wholesome 
game  at  ball,  or  an  hour's  ride  on  a 
good  horse,  will  fit  you  for  studying 
$0  much  the  better  when  you  return 


34  LETIERS    TO    A 

to  your  lessons.  It  is  a  duty  for  us 
to  take  care  of  our  health.  Many 
persons  ruin  their  health  in  youth ; 
and  then  it  is  almost  impossible  to 
live  either  comfortably  or  usefully. 

Visits  to  your  friends  may  also  be 
paid  in  your  holidays.  It  is  a  good 
sign  for  boys  to  be  fond  of  accompa- 
nying their  mothers  and  sisters  in 
their  visits.  Thus  they  learn  good 
manners,  and  escape  that  clownish- 
ness  which  is  apt  to  grow  upon  stu- 
dents. When  I  see  a  boy  ready  on 
every  knock  at  the  door  to  sneak  out 
of  the  room,  I  naturally  conclude 
that  he  will  never  be  a  well-bred 
man.  And  this  is  more  important 
than  you  might  think  at  first;  for 
when  young  men  grow  up,  they  need 
and  desire  some  society.  And  if 
they  have  become  so  foolishly  bash- 
ful, or  disgracefully  awkward,  as  to 
shrink  from  the  society  of  their  mo- 
thers and  sisters,  they  will  be  very 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  35 

apt  to  go    out  into  bad  company 
Lastly,  whatever  you  do,  do  it  upon 
principle,  do  it  conscientiously,  and 
you  will  never  regret  it. 
I  am  your  affectionate  brother, 

James. 


LETTER  V. 

AMUSEMENTS. 

My  dear  brother, — You  will  not  be 
displeased  if  I  devote  another  letter 
or  two  to  the  subject  of  recreation 
and  amusement.  This  is  not  so  tri- 
fling a  matter  as  some  people  might 
suppose.  All  young  persons  are  fond 
of  play,  and  more  than  this,  some- 
thing of  the  sort  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary. As  the  proverb  says,  "  the  bow 
must  not  be  always  bent," — and  the 
more  diligent  a  boy  is  at  his  books, 
the  more  he  needs  relaxation.     This 


36  LETTERS    TO    A    . 

is  not  only  important  for  the  prescr 
vation  of  health,  but  for  preserving 
the  activity  and  strength  of  the  mind. 
Constant  application,  without  rest  or 
pastime,  wears  the  mind,  and  leads 
to  dulness  and  despondency. 

It  is  very  common  to  leave  boys 
entirely  to  themselves  in  the  choice 
of  their  amusements ;  but  this  is  not 
right ;  for  all  plays  are  not  alike  good, 
and  there  are  some  which  are  highly 
injurious  and  improper.  There  are 
three  things  which  you  should  have 
in  view  in  every  game  or  sport :  It 
should  be  full  of  entertainment;  it 
should  be  altogether  innocent ;  and  it 
should  be  of  some  use  to  body  or 
mind.  The  first  requisite,  that  is 
entertainment,  you  will  readily  seek 
and  find  ;  but  boys  are  not  so  careful 
to  amuse  themselves  in  a  profitable, 
or  even  a  harmless  way.  Let  me 
call  your  attention  to  some  of  the 
amusements  which  are  common. 


YOUNGER    BROTHER.  37 

Fiist  of  all,  I  persuade  myself  that 
you  will  never  think  of  playing  cards. 
I  should  wish  you  never  to  know 
even  the  name  of  a  playing-card. 
Games  of  this  kind  are  all  games  of 
hazard  or  chance.  They  do  not 
benefit  the  mind,  they  waste  precious 
time,  and,  above  all,  they  lead  di- 
rectly to  the  ruinous  vice  of  gam- 
bling. Every  play  in  which  dice  are 
used  is,  in  some  degree,  a  game  of 
hazard ;  and  such  amusements  con- 
duct the  inexperienced  to  gambling. 
Draughts,  or  chequers,  is  a  game  of 
skill ;  but  I  never  could  see  it  to  be 
of  much  use  to  the  mind,  and  it  cer- 
tainly affords  no  advantages  to  the 
body.  Indeed,  all  sedentary  games 
of  this  sort  seem  unsuitable  for  youth, 
because  they  keep  the  players  within 
doors,  while  they  might  be  employed 
in  taking  healthful  exercise.  The 
game  of  chess  is  liable  also  to  the  last 
of  these  objections,  although  it  has 

4 


38  LETTERS   TO    A 

been  approved  by  many  judicious 
persons.  I  certainly  do  not  regard  it 
as  evil  in  itself,  and  it  may  be  true 
that  it  encourages  thought,  and  exer- 
cises the  mind  to  a  certain  extent. 
But  its  fascinations  are  such,  that 
most  w^ho  are  fond  of  it  waste  many 
precious  hours  at  the  chess-board. 
It  often  takes  up  a  great  length  of 
time,  and  those  who  become  expert 
-are  frequently  tempted  to  try  other 
gam*es,  and  so  become  gamblers  at 
length.  Besides,  I  could  never  find 
it  so  clearly  beneficial  to  the  mind  as 
has  been  pretended.  Some  of  the 
most  wonderful  chess-players  I  have 
ever  seen,  have  been  persons  of  very 
feeble  understanding  and  limited  rea- 
soning powers.  In  a  word,  I  would 
recommend  to  you  to  abstain  from 
all  games  which  keep  you  sitting 
still,  and  yield  no  direct  improvement 
You  are  rather  too  big  a  boy  to 
engage  in  the  trifling  sports  of  child- 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  39 

ren.  Such  I  consider  marhles.  I  am 
always  mortified  to  see  large  boys  at 
this  pastime.  It  brings  one  into  bad 
company,  is  often  connected  with  a 
sort  of  gaming,  and  at  best  is  some- 
what a  grovelling  business,  without 
any  pretence  of  being  useful. 

There  are  other  recreations  which 
are  good  or  bad,  according  to  the  way 
in  which  they  are  used.  Such  are 
7V7'estU?ig  and  boxi?ig.  These  are 
highly  useful  to  the  limbs,  affording 
them  exercise  and  strength.  But 
then  care  must  be  taken  to  avoid  all 
danger,  and  especially  to  shun  every 
disposition  towards  fighting  and  bul- 
lying. I  fear  it  will  generally  be 
found  that  good  boxers  are  apt  to 
become  quarrelsome. 

You  will,  no  doubt,  expect  me  to 
say  something  about  what  are  called 
the  sports  of  the  field.  Among  these 
I  include  angling,  or  fishing  with 
the  hook  and  line.     It  is  certainly 


40  LETTERS    TO    A 

delightful  to  stroll  along  pleasant 
brooks,  arid  to  recline  on  the  green, 
shaded  banks,  in  fine  summer  wea- 
ther. And  in  the  pursuit  of  this 
sport,  it  is  always  pleasing  to  witness 
the  increase  of  one's  skill,  and  the 
corresponding  success.  Where  it  is 
pursued  for  the  sake  of  obtaining 
food,  it  is  undoubtedly  a  reasonable 
and  useful  employment.  But  when 
boys  go  a  fishing,  their  sole  object  is 
amusement,  and  their  amusement  is 
a  cruel  one.  The  baiting  with  live 
worms,  which  writhe  upon  the 
barbed  hook,  and  the  mangling  of 
the  harmless  fry  which  are  caught, 
are  surely  bad  lessons  of  humanity 
for  tender  youth.  Some  persons 
will  call  these  objections  weak  and 
womanlike.  But  where  amusement*; 
are  so  abundant,  without  the  neces- 
sity of  harming  any  living  thing,  I 
cannot  see  the  need  of  seeking  so 
barbarous  an  enjoyment ;  and  in  those 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  41 

respects  in  which  the  female  sex 
excels,  I  am  very  willing  to  be 
considered  feminine. 

My  objections  are  still  greater  to 
fowling,  or  gunning,  as  an  amuse- 
ment for  boys.  There  is  no  sport  in 
which  they  become  so  enthusiastic, 
and  there  are  few  which  are  more 
injurious.  Not  to  speak  of  the  la- 
mentable accidents  which  are  con- 
stantly occurring  with  fire-arms; 
there  is  here  a  greater  cruelty  than 
even  in  angling.  If  every  bird  at 
which  you  discharged  your  piece 
were  killed  on  the  spot,  there  might 
be  less  reason  for  this  remark.  But 
how  many  poor  fluttering  things  are 
merely  wounded,  and  left  to  linger 
for  hours  or  days  in  mortal  anguish- 
I  can  never  forget  the  impressions 
made  upon  me  in  my  childhood,  by 
the  touching  lines  of  Burns,  upon 
seeing  a  wounded  hare  limp  along 
his  path : 

/       ^* 


42  LETTERS    TO    A 

inhuman  man !  shame  on  thy  barbarous  art, 
And  blasted  be  thy  murder-aiming  eye ; 
May  never  pity  soothe  thee  with  a  sigh; 

Nor  ever  pleasure  glad  thy  cruel  heart. 

Go  live,  poor  wanderer  of  the  wood  and  field, 
The  bitter  little  that  of  life  remains  ; 
No  more  the  thickening  brakes  and  verdant  plains 

To  thee  shall  home  or  food  or  pastime  yield. 

Seek,  mangled  wretch,  some  place  of  wonted  rest, 
No  more  of  rest,  but  now  thy  dying  bed ; 
The  sheltering  rushes  whistling  o'er  thy  head  ; 

The  cold  earth  with  thy  bloody  bosom  press'd, 

Oft  as  by  winding  Nith  I  musing  wait 
The  sober  eve,  or  hail  the  cheerful  dawn, 
I'll  miss  thee  sporting  o'er  the  dewy  lawn, 

And  curse  the  ruffian's  aim,  and  mourn  thy  hapless 
fate. 

Whole  days  are  commonly  con- 
sumed in  this  sport,  and  there  are 
many  young  men  who  become  so 
fond  of  it  as  to  make  it  their  princi- 
pal employment.  Without  enlarging 
upon  the  reasons  why  it  is  so,  I  will 
state  it  as  a  fact,  which  I  have  long 
observed,  that  young  men  who  are 


YOUNGER    BROTHER.  43 

devoted  to  dogs  and   guns  usually 
become  idle  and  dissipated. 

But  you  will  be  ready  to  say, 
*You  are  only  telling  me  what  pas- 
times I  must  not  indulge  in;  name 
some  which  you  recommend."  This 
I  propose  to  do  in  my  next  communi- 
cation. In  the  mean  time,  let  me  give 
you  one  important  rule,  which  applies 
to  the  whole  subject:  Let  amuse- 
ment always  occupy  its  proper  time. 
Its  time  is  when  the  mind  needs  re- 
freshment, when  it  has  been  jaded 
Dy  application.  Never  make  a  busi- 
ness of  play — never  spend  whole 
days  upon  mere  recreation.  Be 
moderate  in  all  enjoyments  of  this 
kind,  and  avoid  every  thing  that  is 
frivolous  and  childish.  Remember 
that  we  are  just  as  accountable  for 
our  relaxation  as  for  any  thing  else ; 
and  we  ought,  therefore,  to  be  as 
conscientious  in  it.  Farewell. 
Your  affectionate  brother, 

James. 


44  LETTERS   TO   A 

LETTER  VI. 

BODILY   EXERCISE. 

My  dear  hrother, — You  are  not  to 
suppose,  from  my  objections  to  cer- 
tain plays  and  games,  that  there  are 
no  suitable  recreations.  Indeed,  my 
difficulty  in  writing  to  you  this 
morning,  is,  that  there  are  so  many, 
I  scarcely  know  w^iere  to  begin,  or 
which  to  choose.  There  are  amuse- 
ments which  are  good  for  the  body, 
or  the  mind,  or  for  both.  Let  us 
consider  a  few  of  these. 

Healthful  exercise  is  part  of  the 
duty  of  every  day.  The  divine 
Maker  and  Master  of  these  bodies 
requires  that  we  should  take  good 
care  of  them.  Young  persons  en- 
gaged in  study  are  liable  to  diseases 
which  arise  from  want  of  exercise. 
No  day  should  pass,  therefore,  with- 


YOUNGER    BROTHER.  45 

out  sufficient  employment  of  the 
limbs  and  muscles.  And  those  ex- 
ercises are  best  which  give  strength 
to  the  body,  and  at  the  same  time 
give  recreation  to  the  mind.  If  you 
amvise  yourself  without  muscular 
action,  you  will  be  puny  and  weak 
of  limb;  and  if  you  take  ever  so 
much  exercise  without  delight,  you 
will  become  dull  and  melancholy. 
Try  to  accomplish  both  ends  at  once. 
For  example,  riding  on  Jwrsehack 
is  a  noble  exercise  for  boys.  It  is 
an  indispensable  part  of  a  manly 
education.  It  is  one  of  the  best 
means  of  preserving  health.  To 
manage  a  spirited  horse  is  quite  an 
attainment  for  a  young  man ;  tending 
to  produce  high  cheerfulness  and 
courage.  In  many  ways  which  I 
cannot  stop  to  name,  it  may  be  very 
useful  in  your  future  life.  And  you 
will  never  be  an  independent  rider, 


46  LETTERS    TO    A 

unless  you  become  sucli  in  your  boy- 
hood. 

Walking  may  be  used  when  one 
cannot  ride.  But  walking  takes 
more  time,  and  often  fatigues  before 
it  has  sufficiently  excited  the  cir- 
culation, and  revived  the  spirits. 
Neither  can  you  survey  so  great  a 
variety  of  scenes  on  foot  as  on  horse- 
back. Let  me  own,  however,  that 
the  great  Dr.  Franklin  considered 
walking  the  very  best  sort  of  exer- 
cise. It  should  be  pursued  for  at 
least  .two  hours  every  day,  by  those 
who  study  closely.  Pedestrian  ex- 
cursions are  of  great  benefit.  In  this 
way  hundreds  of  the  students  at  the 
German  universities  spend  their  va- 
cations, sometimes  travelling  over  all 
Sw^itzerland. 

Whether  you  walk  or  ride,  how- 
ever, you  should  have  a  companion, 
otherwise  your  thoughts  will  be  apt 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  47 

still  to  busy  themselves  with  the 
books  you  have  left.  Try  to  have 
some  object  in  view,  in  your  walk  or 
ride.  Visit  a  friend — seek  out  some 
natural  curiosity — make  yourself 
famiUar  with  every  hill  and  valley, 
every  nook  and  corner,  of  the  whole 
township  and  county.  In  process 
of  time,  extend  your  researches  to 
your  own  State,  and  then  to  other 
States.  Or  make  collections  in  mine- 
ralogy and  botany,  that  you  may  be 
gaining  science  as  well  as  health. 
Thus  you  will  become  a  traveller, 
and  judicious  travel  is  the  most  pro- 
fitable, as  it  is  certainly  the  most 
agreeable  of  all  recreations. 

Swimming^  rowing,  and  skating 
are  manly  sports,  and  conducive  to 
health  when  practised  with  discre- 
tion. The  first  in  particular  is  es- 
sential to  a  good  education;  for  as 
you  read  in  Thomson, 


48  LETTERS    TO    A 

"Life  is  oft  preserved 
By  the  bold  swimmer,  in  the  swift  illapse 
Of  accident  disastrous." 

I  say  nothing  abont  trap-ball,  crick- 
et, shinny,  (sometimes  called  bandy,) 
quoits,  and  the  like,  because  the  only 
danger  is  that  you  already  do  too 
much  at  them.  They  are  all  good, 
when  used  at  proper  times,  in  proper 
places,  and  with  proper  care ;  but  no 
one  of  them  conduces  to  any  imme- 
diate benefit,  beyond  the  exercise 
and  amusement.  Not  so  with  man- 
ual labour.  This,  after  all,  seems  to 
be  the  true  recreation,  especially  for 
wintry  days,  when  we  have  to  keep 
the  house.  The  Jews  used  to  hold, 
that  every  lad,  however  rich,  should 
be  bred  to  a  trade.  A  little  skill  in 
/  carpentry  is  a  grand  accomplishment. 
-How  often  have  I  regretted  that  1 
had  not  gained  it.  I  might  now  be 
independent  of  the  joiner,  when  I 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  49 

want  a  new  shelf,  or  when  the  leg 
of  my  table  needs  to  be  mended.  A 
turning  lathe  is  used  by  some  young 
friends  of  mine,  with  great  advan- 
tage. Every  large  school  ought  to 
have  a  good  supply  of  tools,  and  some 
one  to  give  lessons  to  the  boys.  But 
even  without  other  tools,  you  may 
chop,  saw,  and  split  wood,  or  break 
up  coal,  or  roll  the  gravel  walks,  or 
ply  the  wheelbarrow.  And  when 
these  things  are  done  by  boys  in 
concert,  nothing  can  be  more  enter- 
taining. Gardening  is  so  charming 
a  recreation,  so  innocent,  healthful, 
and  profitable,  that  I  might  spend 
a  whole  letter  in  writing  about  it. 
Take  my  word  for  it,  if  you  live  to 
be  a  man,  you  will  have  a  peculiar 
satisfaction  in  looking  at  trees  or 
shrubbery  which  you  had  put  in  the 
earth  many  years  before.  And  in 
our  climate,  where  trees  for  shade 
are  so  valuable,  you  cannot  discharge 

5 


50  LETTERS   TO    A 

your  duty  to  society,  if  you  do  not 
occasionally  plant  a  linden,  or  locust, 
or  an  elm  which  may  refresh  your 
fellow  men  v/hen  you  shall  have 
departed.  I  am  the  more  earnest 
about  this,  because  I  have  to  walk 
daily  through  a  street,  upon  which 
the  noontide  sun  pours  his  beams, 
much  to  my  discomfort.  If  T  had 
set  out  trees  twenty  years  ago,  as 
I  might  have  done,  how  different 
would  my  walks  be !  Look  at  the 
shaded  promenade  before  the  State 
House  in  Philadelphia,  or  Temple 
street  in  New  Haven,  or  Bond  street 
in  New  York,  or  the  Mall  in  Boston, 
and  you  will  feel  the  force  of  my 
advice.  The  cultivation  of  valuable 
fruit  trees  and  plants  may  be  made  a 
source  of  profit  as  well  as  of  plea- 
sure. 

But  I  have  filled  my  sheet,  and 
yet  am  not  half  done  with  the  subject 
Adieu,  my  dear  boy,  but  remember, 


YOUNGER    BROTHER.  51 

m  recreation,  no  less  than  in  labour^ 
to  keep  a  conscience  void  of  offence 
towards  God  and  towards  man. 
Your  affectionate  brother, 

James 


LETTER  VII. 

EARLY    RISING. 

My  dear  brother , — In  the  coarse 
of  my  reading  I  am  alw^ays  glad  to 
meet  with  any  thing  which  strikes 
me  as  suitable  for  your  instruction. 
This  morning  I  opened  upon  a  page 
of  Mr.  Jay's  works,  in  which  he 
speaks  of  early  rising^  and  his 
thoughts  are  so  excellent,  that  I  shall 
make  free  use  of  them,  and  mingle 
them  with  my  own. 

The  habit  of  early  rising,  if  ever 
formed,  is  commonly  established  in 
cliildhood  or    vouth.      If   one   has 


52  LETTERS    TO    A 

wasted  the  delightful  morning  hours 
of  fifteen  years  in  bed,  he  will  not 
readily  learn  to  deny  himself;  there- 
fore, I  wish  you  now  to  learn  to  en- 
joy 

"The  cool,  the  fragrant,  and  the  silent  morn, 
To  meditation  due,  and  sacred  song." 

Perhaps  you  are  ready  to  ask  how 
much  sleep  is  necessary?  This  can- 
not be  answered  in  a  word.  Some 
need  more  than  others.  But  Mr. 
Jay  says,  *'  It  is  questionable  whether 
they  require  much  more.  Yea,  it  may 
be  questioned  whether  they  require 
(my  more,  as  to  length.  What  they 
want  more  of,  is  hetter  sleep;  and  the 
quality  would  be  improved  by  lessen- 
ing the  quantity."  This  remark  used 
to  be  often  made  by  the  celebrated 
and  excellent  Dr.  Benjamin  Rush- 
Try  the  experiment  of  shortening 
your  slumbers ;  you  will  have  fewer 
dreams,  fewer  turnings  and  tossings 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  63 

but  more  solid  repose,  more  refresh- 
ment. 

But  you  must  shorten  your  rest  at 
the  right  end;  not  by  sitting  up  late 
at  night,  but  by  rising  early  in  the 
morning.  Physicians  say,  that  one 
hour's  sleep  before  midnight  is  worth 
more  than  two  hours'  after  it.  How- 
ever this  may  be,  one  hour  of  study 
before  breakfast  is  certainly  worth 
two  after  supper.  The  mind  is  more 
fresh  and  cheerful,  and  the  health  is 
less  injured.  And  then,  how  much 
more  delightful  are  the  early  hours ! 
The  poet  says  truly, 

*"•  Sweet  is  the  breath  of  morn,  her  rising  sweet, 
With  charm  of  earliest  birds." 

In  the  delightful  months  of  spring, 
summer,  and  autumn, 'you  should 
be  up  at  sunrise.  When  the  va 
pours  begin  to  disperse,  you  will 
observe  all  nature  bedewed  with 
sweetness.  Fresh  odours  breath*i 
5* 


64  LETTERS   TO    A 

from  the  woods,  and  fields,  and  gar 
dens.     A  thousand  birds  are  singing 
in  the  branches.    The  morning  walk 
among  such  scenes  is  as  useful  to 
the  health  as  it  is  pleasing  to  1  he  taste. 

It  is  time  that  you  should  begin  to 
care  for  your  health,  and  Uke  mea- 
sures to  secure  strength  for  future 
usefulness.  The  advantage  of  early 
rising,  as  it  regards  this,  will  be  ap- 
parent in  your  vigour,  your  appetite, 
your  nerves,  your  spirits,  your  com- 
plexion. Ask  your  physician.  Is 
there  a  medical  man  on  earth  that 
would  risk  his  reputation  by  a  con- 
trary opinion?  Sinclair,  in  his  vo- 
lumes on  health  and  long  life,  re- 
marks, that  though  those  who  lived 
to  a  very  great  age  differed  in  many 
things,  they  all  resembled  each  other 
here  There  was  not  one  who  did 
not  rise  early. 

Whatever  business  you  may  ever 
^  engaged  in,  will  be  furthered  by 


YOUNGER    BROTHEFv.  5^, 

early  rising.  What  an  advantage 
has  a  student  from  this  habit  in 
planning  and  arranging  his  pursuits 
for  the  day!  in  despatching  what 
requires  haste,  whether  reading  or 
writing!  and  in  having  leisure  for 
any  incidental  engagement,  without 
putting  every  thing  else  into  disor- 
der !  While  another  who  is  disposed 
to  cry  out,  "  A  little  more  sleep,  and  a 
little  more  slumber,"  and  who  begins 
at  ten  what  he  should  have  begun  at 
six,  is  thrown  into  hurry  and  confu- 
sion; bustles  forward  to  overtake 
himself;  feels  himself  a  drudge  all 
day;  and  at  night  is  weary,  without 
havmg  accomplished  his  task.  All 
this  is  so  well  known,  that  those  very 
I>eople  who  love  to  lie  in  bod  them- 
selves are  very  strict  in  causing 
their  servants  to  rise  in  good  season; 
and  among  all  active,  business  men, 
a  man's  reputation  suffers  from  the 
want  of  this  virtue. 


56  LETTERS   TO    A 

The  heathen  used  to  say,  Morning 
is  the  friend  to  the  muses.  It  surely 
is  a  friend  to  the  graces.  If  it  is  the 
best  time  for  study,  it  is  also  the  best 
time  for  devotion.  When  prayer 
and  praise  are  neglected  in  the  morn- 
ing, they  are  commonly  neglected  all 
day ;  and  if  you  let  the  world  get  the 
start  of  your  soul  in  the  morning, 
you  will  seldom  overtake  it  all  day. 
Morning  devotion  sweetens  every 
succeeding  hour,  pours  a  balm  on 
the  conscience,  gives  a  pleasant  sa- 
vour to  business,  locks  the  door 
against  wdcked  thoughts,  and  fur- 
nishes matter  for  pious  reflection. 

It  is  better  to  go  from  prayer  to  busi- 
ness than  from  business  to  prayer. 
Intercourse  with  God  prepares  for  in- 
tercourse with  our  fellow  creatures^ 
and  for  every  event,  whether  pleasing 
or  painful.  Boerhaave,  the  celebrated 
physician,  rose  early  in  the  morning, 
and  through  his  life  his  practice  was 


YOUNGER    BROTHER.  57 

to  retire  an  hour  for  private  prayer 
and  meditation.  Col.  Gardiner,  even 
when  in  camp,  used  to  spend  two 
hours  of  the  early  morning  in  reh- 
gious  exercises.  The  great  Judge 
Hale,  too,  rose  early,  and  retired  for 
prayer,  and  read  a  portion  of  God's 
word,  without  w^hich,  he  said,  no- 
thing prospered  with  him  all  day. 
Harvard,  the  philanthropist,  was  an 
early  riser.  John  Wesley  usually 
slept  five  hours  ;  and  for  many  years, 
he,  and  all  the  first  Methodist  preach- 
ers, had  a  public  service  at  five  in 
the  morning.  President  Dmiglit  was 
in  the  habit  of  studying  before  day 
for  a  large  portion  of  his  life.  And 
there  was  in  one  of  our  southern 
States,  a  labouring  man  who,  by  de- 
voting two  hours  of  every  morning 
tx)  study,  before  he  went  to  his  work, 
became  a  learned  theologian. 

If  you  have  already  acquired  the 
disgraceful  habit  of  lying  in  bed  late 


58  LETTERS    TO    A 

in  the  morning,  break  it  off  now,  not 
gradually,  but  at  once.  Do  not  regard 
the  Uttle  unpleasant  feehngs  you  may 
have  to  endure  for  a  few  weeks.  Go 
forth,  and  inhale  the  fragrance  of 
the  charming  spring  and  autumnal 
mornings;  it  will  be  a  cordial  to 
your  body  and  your  mind.  And  in 
the  summer,  the  season  from  early 
dawn  until  breakfast  is  the  only 
time  you  can  enjoy  a  book,  a  walk  or 
ride  in  the  open  air.  Let  me  give 
you  Milton^ s  account  of  the  way  in 
which  he  used  to  pass  his  morning 
hours.  "  Those  morning  haunts," 
says  this  great  poet,  "  are  where  they 
ought  to  be- — at  home ;  not  sleeping 
or  concocting  the  surfeits  of  an  irre- 
gular feast,  but  up  and  stirring ;  in 
winter,  often  ere  the  sound  of  any 
bell  awake  men  to  labour  or  devotion; 
in  summer,  as  oft  with  the  bird  that 
first  rouses,  or  not  much  tardier,  to 
read  good  authors,  or  cause  them  to 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  59 

be  read,  till  the  attention  be  weary, 
or  memory  have  its  full  freight ;  then 
with  useful  and  generous  labours 
preserving  the  body's  health  and 
hardiness,  to  render  lightsome,  clear, 
and  not  lumpish  obedience  to  the 
mind,  to  the  cause  of  religion  and 
our  country's  liberty." 

I  have  writtea  to  you  more  than 
once,  concerning  the  example  of  our 
adorable  Saviour;  and  I  wish  the 
chief  object  of  these  letters  may  be, 
to  set  this  blessed  example  more 
fully  before  you.  Now^,  what  do  you 
suppose  was  our  Lord's  practice? 
Just  imagine  to  yourself  the  way  in 
which  he  spent  his  morning  hours. 
Can  you  for  an  instant  suppose  that 
he  passed  them  in  slumbers  upon 
his  couch  ?  When  the  hum  of  busi- 
ness began  among  the  labourers  of 
Judea  or  of  Galilee,  and  the  sun 
shone  warmly  on  the  fields  and  vil- 
xages,  was  the  Redeemer  asleep  ?    Is 


60  LETTERS    TO    A 

it  possible  for  you  to  think  so  ?  No, 
it  is  not.  On  a  certain  occasion,  wo 
read,  And  in  the  morning,  rising  wp 
a  great  rvMle  before  day,  he  went  out^ 
and  departed  into  a  solitary  place, 
and  there  prayed;  and  yet  he  had 
been  greatly  occupied  the  whole  of 
the  day  preceding  this.  We  think 
little  of  time,  but  he  never  passed  an 
idle  hour.  The  language  of  the 
whole  of  his  life  was,  /  must  rvorh 
the  worJcs  of  him  that  sent  me,  while  it 
is  yet  day :  the  night  cometh,  wherein 
no  man  can  work.  Yet  he  was  really 
a  man.  He  took  our  infirmities,  and 
wearied  nature  required  repose ;  but 
he  distinguished  between  what  was 
necessary  and  what  was  needless ; 
and  it  may  be  also  said  of  his  whole 
life,  "  He  pleased  not  himself' 
Your  affectionate  brother, 

James. 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  61 

LETTER  VIII. 

THE   HABIT    OF   DILIGENCE. 

My  dear  brother, — Not  long  ago  I 
wrote  to  you  about  the  importance 
of  forming  right  habits,  and  I  then 
said  a  Uttle  upon  the  subject  of  dili- 
gence. I  now  wish  to  write  to  you 
more  particularly  concerning  this 
matter,  for  this  is  the  time  in  which 
you  must  form  the  habit  of  applica- 
tion, if  you  ever  do. 

Think  how  valuable  a  thing  know- 
ledge is.  If  you  take  two  boys  of  the 
same  age,  one  from  an  Indian  tribe, 
and  the  other  from  an  intelligent 
family  of  Christians,  you  will  observe 
an  amazing  difference.  I  do  not 
mean  the  difference  in  their  looks, 
and  clothing,  and  manners,  but  in 
their  minds.  One  will  be  ignorant 
of  almost  every  thing  that  is  useful. 

6 


02  LETTERS   TO   A 

The  other  will  know  a  thoTisand 
things  upon  a  great  many  subjects. 
Such  is  the  effect  of  education. 
When  one  of  the  ancient  philoso- 
phers was  asked  what  was  the  use 
of  knowledge,  he  answered,  "Take 
two  men,  one  educated  and  the  other 
uneducated,  and  let  them  be  cast 
naked  upon  a  foreign  coast,  and  you 
will  see  the  difference  which  know- 
ledge makes." 

There  are  many  things  which  we 
learn  without  much  trouble,  by  hear- 
ing our  parents  and  friends  talk 
about  them.  But  in  order  to  be 
truly  learned,  so  as  to  be  most  useful, 
we  must  apply  ourselves  to  study. 
Many  boys  are  too  apt  to  look  upon 
their  lessons  as  mere  tasks.  They 
take  no  pleasure  in  learning  them, 
and  are  glad  when  they  are  free  from 
them,  in  order  that  they  may  go  and 
play.  This  is  because  they  do  not 
consider  what  a  precious  thing  know- 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  63 

ledge  is.  If  they  considered  this, 
they  would  be  deUghted  whenever 
they  have  an  opportunity  to  learn 
any  thing.  Let  me  mention  two 
cases.  Joseph  is  a  boy  of  my  acquaint- 
ance, who  has  very  good  talents,  and 
has  been  sent  to  school  from  his 
infancy.  His  father  has  given  him 
the  best  teachers,  and  furnished  him 
with  all  the  books  that  he  needs. 
But  still  he  makes  scarcely  any  im- 
provement. He  takes  his  book,  and 
opens  it,  and  looks  at  the  pages,  but 
seems  always  ready  to  fall  asleep 
over  it.  It  is  a  tiresome  business  to 
him.  Then  he  becomes  so  weary 
that  he  frets  and  grows  peevish, 
looks  about  the  room,  plays  with  his 
knife  and  pencil,  talks  with  those 
who  sit  next  to  him,  and  when  he 
rises  to  recite,  is  shamefully  unpre- 
pared. He  hates  his  books,  and  is 
sorry  when  the  hour  comes  for  him 
to  go.     He  learns  nothing,  and  is  a 


64  LETTERS   TO    A 

mere  idler.  What  is  the  reason? 
He  never  thinks  of  the  use  of  know- 
ledge. He  does  not  consider  that 
this  is  the  very  best  time  for  him  to 
get  knowledge.  Perhaps  no  one  has 
ever  told  him  how  sorry  and  ashamed 
he  will  be,  when  he  grows  up,  and 
finds  that  he  knows  scarcely  any 
thing.  Joseph  has  been  so  negligent 
that  he  has  formed  a  habit  of  idle- 
ness. This  habit  has  grown  very 
strong.  His  teacher  promised  him 
a  beautiful  book,  if  he  would  get  one 
lesson  perfectly.  Joseph  thought  he 
was  sure  of  the  prize,  and  that  he 
could  get  the  lesson  in  an  hour.  So 
he  could,  easily,  if  it  had  not  been 
for  this  habit  of  idleness.  For  two 
or  three  minutes  he  would  fix  his 
eye  on  his  book,  and  seemed  to  study^ 
very  hard.  But  then  the  old  habit 
would  begin  to  work ;  he  would  look 
off  to  see  what  his  next  neighbour 
was  doing,  and  before  long,  he  would 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  65 

catch  himself  playing  with  the  string 
of  his  sachel,  or  cutting  notches  on 
his  slate-frame.  Then  he  would  get 
back  to  his  book,  but  in  a  minute  or 
two  he  would  have  forgotten  all 
about  it.  Joseph  got  no  prize,  and  I 
am  afraid  he  will  be  an  ignorant  boy 
as  long  as  he  lives. 

Benjamin  is  of  the  same  age,  and 
in  the  same  class,  but  he  is  a  very 
different  boy.  He  knows  that  it 
gives  his  dear  parents  very  great 
pleasure  when  he  is  attentive  to  his 
tasks.  He  has  often  heard  of  the 
value  of  time,  and  that  when  it  is 
lost  it  can  never  be  recovered.  And 
he  is  sure  that  the  more  he  studies 
now,  the  wiser  he  will  be  when  he 
grows  up  to  be  a  man,  if  his  life 
should  be  spared.  For  these  reasons 
he  is  very  careful  to  learn  as  much 
as  he  can.  He  loves  his  books,  and 
feels  pleasure  at  every  new  thing 
which  he  is  taught.     He  is  never 

6* 


66  LETTERS    TO    A 

idle,  but  spends  the  whole  of  his 
school-hours  in  getting  his  lessons. 
It  is  no  burden  to  him  to  learn,  but 
rather  a  pleasure;  and  he  is  more 
cheerful  and  happy  when  he  is  at 
hard  study,  than  the  boys  around 
him  who  are  whispering,  or  playing, 
or  nodding  over  their  books.  Benja- 
min has  formed  a  habit  of  diligence. 
It  is  as  natural  to  him  to  study  when 
he  is  at  school,  as  to  eat  when  he  is 
at  table.  He  knows  every  lesson 
perfectly,  and  gratifies  his  parents 
when  he  goes  home,  by  telling  them 
how^  many  pleasant  things  he  has 
learned.  If  Benjamin  lives  to  be  a 
man,  he  will  have  a  great  deal  of 
useful  knowledge.  For  any  one 
who  loves  to  learn  will  certainly  be- 
come learned.  This  habit  of  applica- 
tion will  be  likely  to  stick  to  him  all 
his  life,  and  he  will  be  learning  some- 
thing good  as  long  as  he  lives.  Now, 
[  wish  you  to  choose  between  these 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  pH 

two  boys,  and  find  out  which  of 
them  you  would  like  to  resemble. 
And  whatever  habits  you  now  form, 
I  think  you  will  always  keep. 

If  you  have  been  so  unhappy  as  to 
neglect  this,  and  have  already  fallen 
into  any  bad  habits,  I  beg  that  you 
will  try,  with  all  your  might,  to  get 
rid  of  them.  This  is  often  very 
hard ;  for  it  is  more  difficult  to  un- 
learn what  is  bad,  than  to  learn  what 
is  good.  But  it  must  be  done;  and 
the  sooner  the  better.  Even  small 
things  are  important,  when  they 
become  habitual.  Plato,  the  Gre- 
cian philosopher,  once  rebuked  a 
yoimg  man  very  severely  for  playing 
with  dice.  "  Why  do  you  rebuke 
me  so  severely,"  said  the  youth, 
"for  so  small  a  matter?"  Plato 
replied,  "It  is  no  small  matter  to 
form  a  habit."  While  you  have 
vour  books  before  you,  try  to  think 
of  nothing  else.    If  you  find  yourself 


\ 


68  LETTERS   TO    A 

beginning  to  be  weary,  rouse  your 
mind  by  thinking  of  the  value  of 
time,  the  use  of  learning,  and  espe- 
cially your  duty  to  God. 

Habit  will  make  those  things  easy 
which  at  first  seem  very  hard.  By 
constant  practice  men  become  able 
to  do  astonishing  works.  There  is 
a  story  in  ancient  books  of  a  man 
whose  strength  was  so  great,  that  he 
could  carry  an  ox  upon  his  shoulders. 
When  he  was  asked  how  he  acquired 
such  power,  he  said  it  was  by  this 
means :  he  took  the  animal  when 
it  was  a  young  calf,  and  lifted  it 
every  day,  till  it  grew  to  this  size  ] 
and  by  constant  practice  his  strength 
grew  as  the  calf  grew.  You  may 
believe  the  tale  or  not,  just  as  you 
choose ;  but  it  is  a  good  illustration 
of  the  power  of  constant  practice. 
It  is  much  the  same  in  learning. 
In  arithmetic,  for  instance,  it  is 
astonishing  how  some  young  people 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  69 

will  improve  by  practice.  If  you 
were  to  take  a  long  page  in  a  mer- 
hant's  leger,  it  would  take  you 
fifteen  minutes  to  add  it  up;  but 
your  father  would  run  liis  finger  up 
the  row  of  figures,  and  tell  you  the 
sum  in  less  than  two  minutes.  This 
is  because  he  is  practising  it  every 
day.  I  know  many  persons  who 
never  think  of  using  a  slate  for  any 
of  the  common  questions  in  arithme- 
tic ;  they  have  the  habit  of  working 
them  all  in  their  head.  So  also  in 
composition.  When  you  sit  down 
to  write  a  letter,  it  takes  you  a  long 
time  to  think  what  to  put  down. 
You  bite  your  pen,  and  muse  and 
ponder,  and  take  a  great  while  to 
fill  half  a  page.  But  your  sister 
writes  on,  as  fast  as  her  pen  will 
move,  and  never  stops  until  she  has 
covered  the  whole  sheet.  All  these 
things  should  encourage  you  to  be 


70  LETTERS   TO   A 

very  much  in  earnest,  and  to  study 
diligently,  and  acquire  the  habit 
of  using  every  hour  to  the  best 
advantage 

There  are  many  young  persons 
who  would  give  all  they  have  in  the 
world  for  the  advantages  which  you 
possess.  They  have  no  books,  no 
friends  to  teach  them,  and  no  money 
to  pay  for  schooling.  If  they  were 
in  your  place,  they  would  go  forward 
with  rapid  steps.  Some  poor  boys 
who  have  laboured  under  all  these 
difficulties,  have,  nevertheless,  be- 
come very  learned  men.  In  order 
to  excite  your  mind,  I  intend,  before 
long,  to  give  you  the  history  of  some 
of  these.  In  the  mean  time,  my  dear 
brother,  he  diligent.  Do  every  part 
of  your  duty  7vith  all  your  might. 
When  you  play,  do  it  heartily,  and 
take  as  much  pleasure  in  it  as  you 
choose;    but  when  you  study,   do 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  71 

it  in  good  earnrest,  and  do  nothing 
e.se. 

jf  our  affectionate  brother, 

James. 


LETTER  IX. 

LEARN  SOMETHING  EVERY  HOUR. 

My  dear  brother, — You  must  not 
suppose,  from  what  I  said  in  my  last 
letter,  that  the  school  is  the  only 
place  where  you  can  acquire  know- 
ledge. I  would  by  no  means  have 
you  to  play  all  the  time  that  you  are 
not  employed  at  your  tasks.  There 
are  a  great  many  hours,  especially 
in  these  long  winter  evenings,  in 
which  you  may  be  filling  your  mind 
with  something  useful.  For  this  pur- 
pose you  should  alwaj^s  have  some 
instructive  book  at  hand.  Your 
parents  have  many  such  books,  and 


72  LETTERS    TO    A 

are  always  glad  to  give  you  the  use 
of  them.  It  makes  me  sorry  to  see 
that  you  read  so  much  in  mere  story 
books.  Some  of  these  indeed  are 
useful,  and  they  are  liked  by  all 
young  people  ;  but  most  of  them  are 
foolish,  if  not  injurious.  Boys  often 
become  so  fond  of  this  sort  of  read- 
ing, that  they  never  look  into  any 
but  tales  and  novels.  And  in  this 
way  they  weaken  their  minds,  and 
lose  all  the  advantage  they  might 
gain  from  books  of  instruction.  Now, 
if  you  did  but  think  of  it,  you  would 
find  out  that  there  are  works  which 
are  highly  entertaining,  at  the  same 
time  that  they  are  profitable.  I  mean 
books  of  history,  voyages  and  travels, 
biography,  natural  history,  and  phi- 
losophical experiments.  If  you  were 
once  to  taste  the  pleasantness  of. 
these,  you  would  soon  throw  away 
vour  story  books,  which  are  mostly 
^^  nnlv  for  the  nursery. 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  73 

But  you  cannot  be  always  read- 
ing, and  it  is  by  no  means  neces- 
sary. There  are  many  other  ways 
of  getting  useful  knowledge.  The 
greater  part  of  what  you  already 
know,  you  have  learned  from  hear- 
ing your  father  and  mother  talking. 
If  all  they  have  told  you  should  be 
vn:itten  do^vn,  it  would  fill  a  multi- 
tude of  volumes.  And  you  remem- 
ber this  much  better  than  if  you  had 
read  it  in  a  book.  You  ought,  there- 
fore, to  learn  something  every  day 
from  your  parents.  They  are  alw^ays- 
willing  to  teach  you;  and  whenever 
you  have  any  difficulty,  you  should 
get  them  to  explain  it.  There  are  a 
thousand  things  w^hich  they  would 
be  delighted  to  tell  you,  and  which 
you  would  be  glad  to  learn.  When- 
ever you  are  sitting  with  them,  try 
to  get  them  to  instruct  you.  You 
may  do  the  same  thing  with  all  your 
friends.    If  you  are  only  modest  and 

7 


74  LETTERS   TO   A 

respectfijl,  they  will  not  consider 
yov  too  inqnisitive.  All  sensible 
people  aie  gratified  when  they  see 
that  boys  are  desirous  to  learn. 
Make  it  a  rule  to  leani  something 
from  every-body ;  for  there  is  no  one, 
high  or  low,  who  has  not  some 
knowledge  which  might  do  you 
-good.  For  instance,  you  have  friends 
:in  the  school  who  come  from  differ- 
ent parts  of  the  country.  You  may 
gain  much  information  from  them, 
by  inquiring  concerning  the  places 
where  they  live,  and  getting  them  to 
describe  to  you  every  thing  that  is 
remarkable  in  their  own  neighbour- 
hoods. Even  the  tradesmen  and 
mechanics  can  instruct  you  in  many 
httle  matters  relating  to  their  own 
employments.  It  is  a  great  advan- 
tage for  a  man  to  know  something 
about  every  different  trade  and  me- 
chanic art,  and  you  cannot  learn 
this   from  books    so  well  as  from 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  75 

going  into  the  workshops,  and  ask- 
ing questions  of  the  people  who  are 
at  work.  When  they  see  that  you 
really  wish  to  be  informed,  they 
will  be  glad  to  answer  all  your 
inquiries.  I  should  like  you  to 
know  all  the  particulars  about  every 
kind  of  trade  and  manufacture. 

And  then,  when  you  go  into  the 
country,  it  will  make  your  excursions 
much  more  pleasant  if  you  will  take 
pains  to  learn  from  farmers  every 
thing  about  the  cultivation  of  the 
earth.  You  must  be  sure  to  find 
out  as  much  as  you  can  about  the 
different  operations  of  agriculture; 
sowing,  reaping,  and  the  like;  and 
about  the  productions  of  the  land, 
the  raising  of  cattle  and  sheep,  and 
the  ways  of  improving  the  soil.  You 
will  find  that  many  husbandmen, 
who  have  not  read  as  much  as  your- 
self, have  a  great  treasure  of  know- 
ledge and  wisdom.     Sometimes  you 


76  LETTERS    TO    A 

will  fall  into  the  company  of  those 
who  have  travelled  in  foreign  coun- 
tries. This  will  give  you  a  fine 
opportunity  to  learn  from  them  all 
you  wish  to  know  about  the  parts 
of  the  w^orld  w^hich  they  have  visit- 
ed. And  if  you  travel  about  in 
your  holidays,  you  must  keep  your 
eyes  open  to  every  thing  that  is  re- 
markable, and  learn  all  about  the 
places  through  which  you  pass.  In 
old  times  this  was  the  principal  way 
of  acquiring  knowledge.  Instead  of 
going  to  colleges  and  universities, 
the  ancient  Greeks  used  to  travel  for 
years  together  in  Asia  and  Egypt, 
and  other  lands.  This  is  the  method 
which  was  pursued  by  Lycurgus, 
and  Pythagoras,  and  Plato,  and  others 
of  whom  your  histories  tell  you 
When  you  go  to  a  strange  place,  you 
must  endeavour  to  find  out  whatever 
is  curious,  and  to  make  inquiries  of 
all  your  friends. 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  77 

There  are  a  great  many  common 
things  which  we  see  every  day,  that 
are  very  curious.  Many  boys  carry 
watches  for  months  and  years  with- 
out knowing  at  all  what  it  is  that 
makes  them  go.  Charles  Harvey 
had  a  watch  given  to  him  the  day 
he  was  fifteen  years  old.  He  was 
much  pleased  with  the  present,  but 
could  not  feel  satisfied  until  he  went 
to  the  watchmaker,  and  got  him  to 
explain  the  inside  of  it.  The  watch- 
maker took  the  w^atch  to  pieces,  and 
show^ed  him  all  the  w^orks.  He 
show^ed  him  the  steel  spring  wound 
up  in  a  coil,  and  let  him  see  how  it 
was  constantly  trying  to  unwind  it- 
self and  get  loose.  Then  he  showed 
him  the  barrel  to  which  the  end  of 
the  spring  is  fastened,  and  how  the 
w^orking  of  the  spring  makes  the 
barrel  move  round  and  round.  He 
pointed  out  the  chai7i  w^hich  goes 
from  the  barrel  to  the  great  n^heel 


78  LETTERS    TO    A 

and  fusee,  and  told  him  how  one 
wheel  moved  another,  till  the  hands 
were  made  to  go  round.  But  you 
cannot  understand  this  by  writing. 
If  you  ask  your  father,  he  wdll  ex- 
plain all  these  works  to  you  in  a  few 
minutes. 

Some  boys  are  so  careless  that 
they  make  no  inquiries,  and  never 
learn  any  thing  of  value.  I  knew  a 
boy  who  used  to  go  to  a  mill  every 
few  days,  but  who  never  had  the 
curiosity  to  ask  how^  it  was  that  the 
water  falling  on  the  great  wheel 
could  make  the  mill-stone  turn  round : 
and  lads  w^ill  often  own  guns  without 
ever  finding  out  hov/  the  lock  is 
formed,  or  how  the  trigger  moves 
the  other  works,  or  how  the  gun- 
powder or  the  shot  is  made.  I  hope 
it  will  not  be  so  with  you,  but  that 
whenever  you  see  an)'"  machine,  you 
will  not  rest  until  you  know  all  about 
it.     When  you  are  next  on  boaid  of 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  7# 

a  steamboat,  get  some  one  to  explain 
to  you  how  the  steam  works.  Inquire 
about  the  boiler,  and  the  condenser, 
and  the  piston,  and  the  valves.  Find 
out  the  way  in  which  the  pump  in 
the  yard  raises  the  water,  and  what 
it  is  that  makes  the  mercury  rise  and 
fall  in  the  thermometer. 

The  great  thing  is  to  be  always 
inquiring.  Ask  and  you  will  learn. 
Learn  something  every  hour.  Re- 
member the  little  story  of  Eyes  and 
no  Eyes,  and  read  Travels  about 
Home.^  Whenever  you  take  a  walk, 
you  may  be  learning  something. 
You  ought  to  be  able  to  tell  the 
name  of  every  kind  of  tree  in  the 
woods,  either  by  the  bark  and  leaves, 
or  by  the  shape,  and  the  way  they 
look  at  a  distance.  You  may  easily 
find  out  the  names  of  the  principal 

*  Both  these  works  are  among  the  publications 
of  the  American  Sunday-school  Union. 


80  LETTERS    TO    A 

plants  and  flowers  which  grow  in 
the  fields.  It  wdll  be  a  shame  if  you 
grow  up  without  knowing  how  to 
tell  one  bird  from  another,  by  their 
shape,  their  plumage,  their  song,  or 
their  manner  of  flying.  When  you 
come  to  look  more  sharply,  you  will 
discover  a  great  many  curious  differ- 
ences in  the  mosses  and  the  ragged 
lichens  which  grow  on  the  fences 
and  stones,  and  look  like  mould. 
This  is  the  way  to  become  a  philoso- 
pher. A  philosopher  is  a  lover  of 
wisdom.  The  reason  why  some 
men  become  philosophers  is,  that 
they  are  always  inquiring  and  learn- 
ing something  every  hour.  It  was 
thus  that  Dr.  Franklin  became  so 
celebrated,  and  discovered  the  nature 
of  thunder  and  lightning,  which  no 
one  knew  before.  I  have  read  also 
of  poor  shepherd's  boys,  who  have 
become  great  philosophers  in  the 
same  way. 


YOUNGER    BROTHER.  81 

If  you  are  only  determined  to  be 
[earning  something  all  the  time,  there 
is  no  doubt  that  you  will  be  constantly 
improving.  When  your  friends  see 
this  they  will  help  you,  and  be  glad 
to  instruct  you.  They  will  put  you 
in  the  way  of  making  experiments 
for  yourself,  and  will  furnish  you 
with  books  and  instruments.  Thus 
your  very  amusements  will  be  full 
of  profit.  I  am  sure  that  you  would 
find  far  more  entertainment  in  trying 
experiments  with  a  little  electrical 
machine  than  in  playing  at  ball  or 
marbles.  And  at  the  same  time  you 
would  be  learning  an  important  sci- 
ence. You  might  spend  an  hour  or 
two  in  a  printing  office,  learning  the 
way  in  which  books  are  ,made,  and 
be  much  more  amused  than  by  run- 
ning about  the  play-ground. 

So  you  see  that  even  when  you 
are  not  in  school  you  maybe  constant 
ly  improving  your  mind.     You  can- 


82  LETTERS    TO    A 

not  open  your  eyes  anywhere,  v. .  th 
out  beholding  something  to  inquire 
about;  and  the  more  inquiries  yon 
make,  the  more  you  will  know. 
This  makes  one  great  difference 
between  people;  some  are  anxious 
to  learn,  while  others  do  not  care 
whether  they  learn  or  not.  Be 
awake,  my  dear  brother,  and  re 
member  that  time  is  short,  and  that 
you  must  give  an  account  of  the 
w^ay  in  which  you  spend  every  mo- 
ment. The  greater  your  knowledge 
is,  the  more  useful  may  you  be  to 
your  fellow  creatures. 

YQur  affectionate  brother, 

James, 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  83 


LETTER  X. 

rfl   t    1    IREE     SELF-TAUGHT    SCOTCH 
LADS. 

My  lear  brother, — You  have  good 
teachers  and  parents  who  dehght  in 
giving  you  all  the  books  and  all  the 
instructions  which  you  need.  For 
these  favours  you  ought  to  be  thank- 
ful to  your  heavenly  Father;  and 
this  should  make  you  more  diligent 
than  you  have  ever  been  before.  I 
wish  to  give  you  some  account,  at 
this  time,  of  the  way  in  which  cer- 
tain young  persons,  without  your  ad- 
vantages, became  truly  learned.  I 
hope  that  when  you  see  how  much 
progress  they  made,  with  every  thing 
against  them,  you  will  be  encouraged 
to  greater  perseverance  and  improve- 
ment of  your  time. 

Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  man  named 


84  LETTERS    TO    A 

Edmund  Stone  ?  He  was  born  about 
a  hundred  and  thirty  years  ago,  in 
Scotland.  Edmund's  father  was 
gardener  to  the  Duke  of  Argyle. 
This  nobleman  one  day  found  on 
the  grass  a  volume  of  a  book  called 
Newton! s  Principiay  in  Latin,  and 
when  he  made  inquiries,  learned  tha 
it  belonged  to  young  Edmund.  He 
was  much  astonished  to  find  that  his 
gardener's  son  could  read  Latin,  or 
understand  mathematics.  He  said 
to  him,  "But  how  came  you  by  the 
knowledge  of  all  these  things?"  '*  A 
servant,"  said  the  youth,  who  was 
tlien  in  his  eighteenth  year,  "taught 
me  to  read  ten  years  ago.  Does  one 
need  to  know  any  thing  more  than 
the  twenty-four  letters  in  order  to 
learn  every  thing  else  that  one  wish- 
es?" The  duke  was  still  more  sur- 
prised; he  sat  down  upon  a  bank, 
and  received  from  Edmund  the  fol- 
lowing account : 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  85 

*'I  first  learned  to  read,"  said  he, 
''when  the  masons  were  at  work 
upon  your  house.  I  approached  them 
one  day,  and  observed  that  the  archi- 
tect used  a  rule  and  compass,  and 
that  he  made  calculations.  I  inquired 
what  might  be  the  meaning  and  use 
of  these  things,  and  I  was  informed 
that  there  was  a  science  called  arith 
metic,  and  I  learned  it.  I  was  told 
there  was  another  science  called 
geometry;  I  bought  the  necessary 
books,  and  I  learned  geometry.  By 
reading,  I  found  that  there  were  good 
books  in  these  two  sciences  in  Latin; 
I  bought  a  dictionary,  and  I  learned 
Latin.  I  understood,  also,  that  there 
were  good  books  of  the  same  kind  in 
French;  I  bought  a  dictionary,  and  I 
learned  French.  And  this,  my  lord, 
is  what  I  have  done;  it  seems  to  me 
that  we  may  learn  every  thing  when 
we  know  the  twenty-four  letters  of 
the  alphabet."  This  man  afterwards 
S 


86  LETTERS   TO    A 

became  well  known  as  an  author,  and 
published  a  number  of  mathematical 
works. 

I  will  now  give  you  some  account 
of  another  young  Scotchman  who 
was  still  more  extraordinary.  I  mean 
the  astronomer  James  Ferguson.  He 
was  born  in  1710,  in  Banffshire. 
His  father  was  a  poor  but  pious  day- 
labourer.  James,  by  hearing  his 
elder  brothers  taught,  learned  to  read 
before  his  father  supposed  that  he 
knew  the  letters.  When  he  was 
seven  or  eight  years  old,  he  began  to 
pay  attention  to  mechanical  contri- 
vances, and  actually  discovered  the 
principles  of  the  lever,  and  of  the 
wheel  and  axle.  He  was  employed 
as  a  shepherd,  and  while  his  flock 
was  feeding  around  him,  he  used  to 
spend  his  time  in  making  little  mills, 
spinning-wheels,  and  the  like.  At 
night  he  used  to  busy  himself  in 
lookingr  at  the  stars.     He  afterwards 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  87 

was  employed  by  a  farmer  named 
Glashan.  who  was  very  kind  lo  f^m 
After  his  day's  work,  James  ust>  so 
go  at  night  to  the  fields,  with  a  blan- 
ket around  him,  and  a  lighted  candle, 
and  lie  down  on  his  back  to  examine 
the  stars.  "I  used,"  says  he,  '"'to 
stretch  a  thread  with  small  beads 
upon  it,  at  arm's  length,  between  my 
eye  and  the  stars;  sliding  the  beads 
upon  it,  till  they  hid  such  and  such 
stars  from  my  eye,  in  order  to  take 
their  apparent  distances  from  one 
another;  and  then  laying  the  thread 
down  OD  a  paper,  I  marked  the  stars 
thereon  by  the  beads."  Mr.  Gil- 
christ, the  minister,  showed  him  how 
to  draw  maps,  and  gave  him  com- 
passes, rules,  &c.  In  his  twentieth 
year  he  w^ent  to  live  in  the  house  of 
a  Mr.  Grant,  whose  butler  taught 
him  how  to  make  dials,  and  also 
instructed  him  in  arithmetic.  After 
his  return  to  his  father's  house,  he 


88  LETTERS    TO    A 

procured  a  book  of  geography,  and 
made  a  globe  of  wood,  which  he 
covered  with  paper,  and  drew  a  map 
of  the  world  on  it  This  he  did  be- 
fore he  had  ever  seen  an  artificial 
globe.  Next  he  was  employed  by  a 
miller,  and  here  he  lived  so  poorly, 
that  often  his  only  fare  was  a  little 
oatmeal  and  water.  After  being 
some  time  in  the  service  of  a  phy- 
sician, he  returned  home  again,  'in 
ill-health.  Here  he  made  a  wooden 
clock,  and  then  a  wooden  watch,  with- 
out the  least  assistance  or  instruction. 
From  this  he  went  on  and  made 
some  dials.  Afterwards  he  became 
a  painter,  but  still  gave  most  of  his 
time  to  philosophy;  so  that  in  the 
end  he  was  a  distinguished  author, 
and  a  member  of  the  Royal  Society. 
Such  accounts  as  these  ought  to 
make  you  ashamed  to  be  idle.  If  a 
gardener  and  a  shepherd's  boy,  in 
the  midst  of  hard  work,  could  learn 


YOUNGER    BROTHER.  89 

SO  much  without  an)^  teachers,  how 
much  might  you  acquire,  who  have 
nothing  to  do  but  to  learn,  and  have 
the  contmual  assistance  of  friends 
and  teachers ! 

But  there  is  still  another  Scotch- 
man, whom  I  shall  introduce  to  your 
acquaintance,  namely,  the  late  Dr. 
Alexander  Murray.  He  was  born  in 
the  shire  of  Kirkcudbright,  in  1775, 
and  was  the  son  of  a  shepherd.  He 
learned  to  write  and  read  at  once, 
for  his  father  used  to  draw  the  let- 
ters for  him  on  the  board  of  an  old 
wool-card,  with  a  bit  of  burnt  stick. 
Much  of  his  time  was  passed  in 
writing  with  coals,  and  he  became 
wonderfully  familiar  with  the  Scrip- 
tures. His  mother's  brother,  when 
he  was  about  nine  years  old,  took 
him  to  New  Galloway,  to  school, 
where  he  lost  his  health.  For  a 
number  of  years,  his  only  reading 
was  the  Bible,  and  such  penny  bal- 


90  LETTERS   TO    A 

lads  as  are  hawked  about  the  streets. 
In  1787,  he  read  Josephus,  and  Sal- 
mon's geography;  he  then  undertook 
to  teach  the  children  of  two  farmers, 
and  for  a  winter's  work  received 
sixteen  shillings.  He  then  went  to 
school  again,  and  learned  arithmetic 
and  book-keeping. 

The  reading  of  Salmon's  geogra- 
phy had  led  him  to  think  much  about 
foreign  countries,  and  their  lan- 
guages. "I  had,"  says  he,  ''in  1787 
and  1788,  often  admired  and  mused 
on  the  specimens  of  the  Lord's  prayer 
in  every  language,  found  in  Salmon's 
grammar.  I  had  read  in  the  Maga- 
zine and  Spectator  that  Homer,  Vir- 
gil, Milton,  Shakspeare,  and  Newton 
were  the  greatest  of  mankind.  I  had 
been  early  informed  that  Hebrew^ 
was  the  first  language,  by  some  good 
religious  people.  In  1789  an  old 
woman  showed  me  her  psalm  book, 
which  was  printed  with  a  large  type, 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  91 

had  notes  oireach  page,  and  likewise 
what  I  discovered  to  be  the  Hebrew 
alphabet,  marked  letter  after  letter  in 
the  119th  psalm.  I  took  a  copy  of 
these  letters  by  printing  them  off  in 
my  old  way,  and  kept  them."  He 
undertook  to  teach  himself  French, 
and  from  this  he  w^ent  to  the  Latin 
grammar,  of  which  he  borrowed  a 
copy  from  a  boy.  And  this  extraor- 
dinary child,  with  hardly  any  assist- 
ance, was  pursuing  at  one  time  the 
study  of  Latin,  French,  Greek,  and 
Hebrew.  But  I  cannot  go  on  to 
mention  all  the  languages  he  learned. 
There  was  probably  no  man  living 
who  knew  so  many,  and  in  all  of 
these  he  was  self-taught.  He  wrote 
some  of  the  most  learned  works 
which  have  ever  appeared,  and  died 
at  the  early  age  of  thirty-eight.  It 
was  his  thirst  for  knowledge  and  his 
constant  application  which  made  him 
learned;   and  this  shows  the  truth 


92  LETTERS    TO    A 

of  what  I  before  told  you, — that  he 
who  is  really  desirous  of  acquiring 
information  will  always  succeed. 

I  might  mention  other  m stances. 
William  Gifford,  the  late  learned 
editor  of  the  Quarterly  Review,  was 
first  a  sailor-boy  on  a  coal-vessel, 
and  then  a  shoemaker.  He  used  to 
learn  mathematics  while  he  was 
making  shoes,  and  having  no  pen 
or  paper,  he  beat  out  pieces  of  leather 
as  smooth  as  possible,  and  wrought 
his  problems  on  them  with  a  blunted 
awl.  In  the  same  way  he  used  to 
wTite  verses.  He  afterwards  became 
one  of  the  most  celebrated  scholars. 
And  there  are  many  other  such 
cases  which  I  can  point  out  for  your 
perusal  in  various  books.  But  I 
must  now  conclude,  heartily  wish- 
ing that  you  ma}^  profit  by  whatever 
is  good  in  every  example. 

I  am  your  aifectionate  brother, 

James. 


YOUNGFR   BROTHER.  93 

LETTER  XL 

THE   FORMATION    OF   HABITS. 

My  dear  brother, — Some  of  the 
subjects  upon  which  I  intend  to 
address  you,  will  perhaps  seem 
small.  Nothing  is  small,  however, 
or  unimportant,  which  concerns  the 
forming  of  your  habits.  You  are 
now  forming  a  character  for  life, 
and,  as  I  have  intimated  in  a  former 
letter,  ten  years  hence  it  will  be  too 
late  to  amend  what  is  done  amiss 
now. 

Near  the  place  where  I  write,  a 
number  of  men  are  busied  in  build- 
ing a  large  house.  They  are  carry- 
ing up  thick  walls  of  solid  stone. 
Now  I  observe  that  they  are  very 
careful  in  laying  these  stones.  They 
are  constantly  measuring  with  the 
rule    and   the    plummet,    to    make 


94  LETTERS   TO   A 

every  part  exactly  as  it  should  be. 
And  they  have  reason  for  this,  be- 
cause, if,  six  months  hence,  they 
should  find  out  that  their  wall  was 
not  perpendicular,  or  their  founda- 
tion not  strong,  they  could  do  no- 
thing to  remedy  it,  but  to  take  down 
their  work  and  do  it  over  again. 
So  it  is  with  you.  Every  habit  you 
form  is  one  stone  laid  in  your  cha- 
racter. At  this  earl)^  age  you  may 
correct  bad  habits,  but  it  will  be  all 
but  impossible  when  you  shall  have 
become  a  man.  Besides,  the  cha- 
racter of  a  youth  is  fixed,  as  to  great 
matters,  much  sooner  than  many 
suppose.  Not  long  ago,  I  came  to  a 
place  in  which  I  had  spent  many 
of  my  youthful  days,  and  saw  seve- 
ral of  my  playmates.  They  are  now 
men  and  women,  and  some  of  them 
have  children  as  old  as  I  was  when 
we  all  went  to  school  together.  Other 
changes  have    taken  place,  but  in 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  95 

almost  every  one  I  see  the  same 
general  character. 

Let  me  give  yon  an  instance. 
There  is  John  Smith,  who  was  the 
most  diHgent  boy  in  the  school.  He 
is  still  diligent,  and  has  gained  so 
much  knowledge  that  he  is  thought 
to  be  the  wisest  lawyer  in  the  State. 
There  is  Samuel  Johnson,  who  was 
idle,  sleepy,  careless,  fond  of  his 
bed,  and  fond  of  eating.  He  is  still 
the  same  sluggish  creature  ;  he  still 
rises  several  hours  after  the  sun; 
he  eats,  and  drinks,  and  slumbers. 
His  little  property  is  gone ;  his  coat 
is  out  at  the  elbows ;  he  has  lately 
been  released  from  imprisonment, 
and  will  be  Lazy  Sam  (I  fear)  as 
long  as  he  lives. 

Religion,  I  know,  works  great  and 
happy  changes  in  some,  even  late  in 
life.  But  what  I  desire  for  you  is, 
that  religion  may  work  this  change 
early  in  life ;  or  rather  that  the  grace 


96  LETTERS    10    A 

of  God  may  so  mould  your  character 
now^  that  in  these  particulars  there 
may  be  no  need  of  a  change  so 
radical.  For  it  is  better  to  lay  the 
foundation  right  at  the  beginning, 
than  to  tear  down  the  whole  walls  to 
put  right  what  is  found  to  be  wrong. 
That  is,  it  is  better  for  a  boy  to 
form  right  habits,  from  the  fear  of 
God,  in  his  boyhood,  than  to  live  in 
wrong  habits  twenty  years,  and  then 
try  to  change  them  when  it  is  too 
late.  I  know  some  pious  persons 
who  are  mourning  every  day  over 
the  bad  habits  of  their  childhood. 
Thus  they  know  it  is  a  sin  to  be 
slothful,  yet  they  find  it  too  late  to 
acquire  diligence,  and  they  lounge 
all  day  over  newspapers,  or  trifling 
oonversation,  when  they  might  be 
doing  something  to  benefit  their  own 
souls  or  those  of  their  neighbours. 

The  proverb  of  the   ancients    is 
good,  Do  what  is  right,  however  un- 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  97 

pleasant,  and  custom  will  make  it 
delightful.  You  know  a  little  boy, 
who  lives  near  you,  who  makes  it  a 
rule  to  walk  four  miles  before  break- 
fast every  morning.  When  he  be- 
gan this  it  was  very  irksome,  and 
he  was  often  tempted  to  give  it  up  ; 
but  his  father  told  him  that  "  custom 
would  make  it  delightful,"  and  he 
persevered.  This  became  true ;  he 
would  not  now  miss  his  morning 
walk  on  any  account.  I  have  no 
doubt  he  will  retain  the  habit  through 
life,  and  it  will  probably  keep  him  a 
robust,  healthy  man  for  many  years. 
Those  little  things  which  seem  hard 
to  you,  in  your  studies,  are  of  the 
same  kind.  Do  not  give  way,  like 
a  coward,  to  every  difficulty.  It  is 
like  diving  into  the  river,  which 
you  used  to  do  with  me;  the  first 
dash  only  is  disagreeable.  Make  it 
a  rule  to   conquer  difficulties.     In 

9 


98  LETTERS   TO   A 

this  respect  be  a  man  at  once.  In 
your  Latin,  your  arithmetic,  or  your 
exercises,  he  brave.  Form  a  habit 
of  not  leaving  any  thing  half-done. 
In  the  long  run  it  is  the  easiest  way 
to  master  every  thing  before  you 
leave  it.  Some  boys,  for  instance, 
never  learn  the  Greek  verb  per- 
fectly. This  they  might  do  in  a 
few  days.  But  they  prefer  skim- 
ming over  the  lesson,  and  leave  the 
master  to  help  them  out.  Now, 
just  look  at  what  follows;  every 
day,  as  long  as  they  learn  Greek, 
they  feel  their  need  of  this  know- 
ledge. Every  day  they  are  morti- 
fied, if  not  disgraced  or  punished. 
Yet  the  hahit  of  negligence  sticks  by 
them.  It  creeps  into  other  things. 
For  the  very  same  reasons,  they  are 
negligent  in  composition,  in  mathe- 
matics, and  in  oratory.  They  fix 
the  habit  for  life,  and  for  life  are 
negligent  fellows. 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  99 

Remember,  my  dear  brother,  that 
it  is  not  what  you  actually  learn 
that  is  solely  important.  By  learn- 
ing this  or  that,  you  not  only  trea- 
sure up  such  and  such  things  in 
your  memory,  but  you  discipline 
your  mind.  That  is,  you  form 
habits  of  mind.  When  a  person's 
mind  is  tutored  into  good  habits,  he 
is  said  to  have  a  disciplined  mind. 
One  may  learn  a  great  many  things, 
and  yet  have  an  undisciplined  mind, 
because  he  learned  them  carelessly, 
hastily,  or  in  the  wrong  order.  Just 
as  the  poor  beggar,  who  used  to 
come  to  our  door,  knew  more  poetry 
than  all  of  us  put  together,  while  he 
was  so  far  from  being  wise  that  he 
could  not  put  two  ideas  together 
in  the  way  of  reasoning.  You  are 
young,  and  cannot  choose  for  your- 
self what  is  best.  But  your  teachers 
select  those  studies  which  will  tend 


100  LETTERS    TO    A 

to  give  your  mind  proper  habits 
Pay  all  possible  attention  to  these 
studies.  Be  perfect  in  them.  Every 
hour  now  is  worth  more  to  you  than 
a  day  is  to  me.  Every  day  is  con- 
firming you  in  some  habit,  either 
good  or  bad.  And  if  you  are  not 
careful  to  aim  at  those  which  are 
good,  you  will  most  assuredly  fall 
into  such  as  are  bad.  You  cannot 
be  too  much  in  earnest  then ;  attend 
to  every  thing  which  your  teacher 
advises.  Several  things  are  apt  to 
be  neglected  by  boys  which  they 
find  very  important  when  ihey  come 
to  be  men.  Your  time  of  rising, 
your  attention  to  personal  neatness, 
your  punctuality  at  school,  your 
bedily  exercise,  your  pronunciation 
and  manners,  your  temperance  and^ 
self-denial,  your  accuracy  in  study, 
all  these  things  are  contributing  to 
make  you  (if  your  life  should  be 


YOUNGER    BROTHER.  101 

spared)   a  useful,    agreeable,    wise, 
and    happy   man,    or  a  disgusting, 
ignorant,  and  discontented  booby. 
Your  affectionate  brother, 

James. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

DANGER   OF    EVIL   COMPANY. 

My  dear  brother, — From  your  ear 
I '.est  infancy  you  have  been  taught 
to  avoid  bad  company,  and  I  hope 
you  see  the  importance  of  this  more 
and  more.  Our  manners,  our  habits, 
and  our  ways  of  thinking  are  gather- 
ed  very  much  from  the  persons 
with  whom  we  associate.  If  you 
are  pleased  with  the  society  of  idle, 
irreligious,  or  profane  boys,  it  is  a 
sure  sign  that  you  are  already  cor- 
rupted. And  the  longer  you  con- 
9* 


102  LETTERS    TO   A 

tinue  m  their  company  the  more 
you  will  be  injured. 

In  every  school  there  are  some 
lads  who  are  seducers  and  corrupters 
of  the  rest.  They  are  not  always 
rude  or  insolent,  nor  so  openly  wick- 
ed as  to  shock  you  at  the  first  ac- 
quaintance. Often  they  are  young 
persons  of  good  manners  and  gentle 
behaviour;  but  under  this  cloak, 
they  are  false,  malignant,  or  licen- 
tious. When  you  first  become  ac- 
quainted with  them,  you  are  charmed 
by  their  pleasant  deportment ;  and  it 
is  not  for  a  good  w^hile  that  you  find 
out  their  real  character. 

There  is  a  saying  of  a  Latin  poet 
v^hich  is  very  true,  ''  No  one  ever 
became  profligate  all  at  once."  The 
first  steps  are  very  slight.  The  pro- 
gress is  almost  imperceptible.  When 
a  boy  who  has  been  piously  educated 
first    comes    among    ungodly   com 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  103 

panions,  he  is  shocked  with  their 
wickedness.  He  trembles  when  he 
hears  them  profane  the  name  of 
God,  and  retreats  from  their  pre- 
sence. Their  immodest  conversa- 
tion causes  him  to  blush.  When 
they  tell  wilful  falsehoods,  he  is 
frightened  at  their  daring.  After 
having  been  some  time  in  their  com- 
pany, this  alarm  and  horror  give 
way.  He  still  dislikes  their  wicked 
words  and  actions,  but  his  ear  be- 
comes familiar  to  the  unholy  sounds, 
and  he  grows  used  to  their  impieties. 
Perhaps  a  boyish  curiosity  leads  him 
to  mingle  in  their  circle,  and  listen 
to  their  tales.  By  degrees  he  is  in- 
different to  what  at  first  so  much 
startled  him.  Evil  communications 
corrupt  good  manners,  and  he  grows 
more  and  more  like  his  company. 
Unless  restrained  by  divine  grace, 
he  becomes  worse  every  day.  Be- 
ginning with    foolish  exclamations 


104  LETTERS    TO    A 

and  minced  oaths,  he  at  length  de- 
sires to  appear  manly  and  spirited, 
and  ventures  upon  some  profane 
expression.  At  his  first  oath,  it  is 
likely  he  turns  pale  or  feels  an  in- 
ward shuddering.  But  by  degrees 
this  goes  off.  He  is  shamed  out  of 
his  early  principles,  and  tries  to  let 
his  companions  see  that  he  is  as 
fearless  as  themselves.  So  he  pro- 
ceeds, (if  not  arrested,)  until  he 
becomes  a  complete  profligate. 

Alas !  this  is  the  course  of  many 
a  young  man  over  whom  the  tears 
of  piety  have  been  shed.  Many  a 
youth  has  thus  gone  on,  till  he  has 
broken  a  tender  mother's  heart,  and 
brought  down  her  "  gray  hairs  with 
sorrow  to  the  grave."  Evil  company 
is  one  of  the  chief  things  which  cor- 
rupt youth.  Without  bad  compa* 
nions,  they  would  not  learn  to  swear, 
to  curse,  or  to  use  indelicate  language ; 
without  bad  companions,  they  would 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  105 

not  be  tempted  to  taste  intoxicating 
drinks,  to  play  at  games  of  hazard, 
or  to  practise  dishonesty.  It  is 
likely  that  Satan  tempts  quite  as 
much  by  wicked  persons  (who  are 
his  tools)  as  he  does  directly  by  his 
own  suggestions  to  our  hearts. 

As  no  one  can  touch  pitch  with- 
out being  defiled,  so  no  young  person 
can  be  much  with  wicked  playmates 
without  being  corrupted.  Do  not 
be  deceived  about  this.  We  all 
think  a  great  deal  of  our  own  reso- 
lution, and  perhaps  you  will  flatter 
yourself  that  you  are  not  to  be  in- 
fluenced by  bad  companions.  ''  Let 
him  that  thinketh  he  standeth  take 
heed  lest  he  fall."  The  only  safety 
is  in  flight.  You  cannot  sincerely 
pray,  "  Lead  us  not  into  temptation," 
if  you  rush  into  bad  company,  which 
is  one  of  the  very  w^orst  of  all  temp- 
tations. It  may  be  the  duty  of  some 
persons  to  go  among  the  wicked,  to 


106  LETTERS   TO   A 

do  them  good ;  just  as  it  may  be  the 
duty  of  some  persons  to  go  into  a 
fire,  to  put  it  out.  But  it  would  be 
the  height  of  presumptuous  folly  to 
walk  through  the  raging  flames  with- 
out necessity ;  and  it  is  just  as  pre- 
sumptuous and  as  foolish  to  frequent 
the  society  of  the  wicked. 

One  of  the  principal  disadvantages 
of  irreligious  company  is,  that  it  pre- 
vents or  destroys  serious  impressions 
on  the  heart.  As  soon  as  wicked 
youth  perceive  that  one  of  their 
number  is  thinking  about  religion, 
they  all  turn  upon  him  in  ridicule. 
And  in  too  many  cases  they  are  suc- 
cessful. The  poor  deluded  coward 
is  more  afraid  of  their  scorn  than  of 
the  wrath  of  God.  He  is  ashamed 
to  let  it  be  known  that  he  prays  or 
reads  the  Bible.  Thousands  and 
thousands  have  thus  been  drawn 
away  from  the  door  of  life  by  the 
taunts  of  scoffers.     Now,  my  dear 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  107 

Drotber,  as  you  value  your  immortal 
«oul,  beware  of  tbis.  Never  be 
isbamed  of  Christ.  And  to  avoid 
tbis  temptation,  avoid  all  wicked 
companions.  Consider  carefully  wbo 
are  your  intimates.  If  tbere  is  among 
tbem  a  single  boy  wbo  is  idle,  pro- 
fane, lewd,  deceitful,  false,  or  quar- 
relsome, shun  that  hoy.  Break  off 
all  acquaintance  witb  bim  at  once. 
Have  as  little  to  say  to  bim  and  to 
do  witb  bim  as  possible.  You  need 
not  offend  him,  but  you  must  assu- 
redly avoid  bim.  The  psalmist 
describes  the  good  man  as  one  who 
"  walketb  not  in  the  counsel  of  the 
ungodly,  nor  standeth  in  the  way 
of  sinners,  nor  sitteth  in  the  seat  of 
the  scornful."  Solomon  says,  "  My 
son,  if  sinners  entice  thee,  consent 
thou  not :  my  son,  walk  not  thou  in 
the  way  witb  them,  refrain  thy  foot 
from  their  path."  Read  also  the 
following  passages :  '*  Enter  not  into 


108  LETTERS   TO    A 

the  path  of  the  wicked,  and  go  not 
in  the  way  of  evil  men ;  avoid  it, 
pass  not  hy  it.  turn  from  it,  and  pass 
awayy  "  Forsake  the  foohsh,  and 
live,  and  go  in  the  way  of  under- 
standing." "He  that  walketh  with 
the  wise  shall  be  wise ;  but  a  com- 
panion of  fools  shall  be  destroyed." 

By  acting  in  the  way  which  I 
recommend,  it  is  possible  that  you 
may  displease  some  of  your  school- 
mates; but  it  is  better  to  displease 
them  than  to  offend  God.  And  in 
the  end,  it  is  very  likely  that  even 
they  will  see  that  your  way  of  life  is 
better  than  theirs.  Remember,  that 
the  path  of  youth  is  beset  with 
dangers,  and  ask  help  of  God,  and 
instruction  from  his  word.  ''  How 
shall  a  young  man  cleanse  his  way  ? 
By  taking  heed  thereto  according  to 
thy  word."     Farewell. 

Your  affectionate  brother, 

James. 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  109 

LETTER  XIII. 

FRIENDSHIPS. 

My  dear  brother, — Tell  me  your 
company,  says  a  proverb,  and  I  ?viU 
tell  you  what  you  are.  This  is  a  text 
on  which  I  have  several  times  en- 
larged, in  my  previous  letters.  It  is^ 
a  sentiment  which  you  should  con- 
stantly remember,  for  it  will  make 
your  friendships  safe  and  delightful,, 
and  will  also  preserve  you  from 
many  of  the  misfortunes  into  which 
unwary  youth  are  prone  to  fall. 

But  after  you  have  made  choice 
of  your  acquaintances,  after  you 
have  discouraged  the  familiarities 
of  wicked  youth,  and  formed  a  little 
circle  of  proper  companions,  it  is 
right  that  you  should  pay  special 
attention  to  another  point  of  duty. 
It  is  the  regulation  of  your  conduct 

10 


110  LETTERS   TO    A 

towards  those  with  whom  you  are 
intimate.  In  this  particular,  boys 
are  always  unguarded;  every  one  is 
liable  to  err  on  one  side  or  the  other. 
I  hope,  therefore,  that  a  few  brief 
directions  may  not  be  thrown  away 
upon  you. 

Be  cautious  and  slow  in  choosing 

your  friends.      This  is  what  you 

Hmve  already  learned,  and  it  is  mere- 

Ily  introductory   to    the    rules    and 

counsels  which  follow. 

When  you  have  acquired  a  good 
friend^  he  firm  and  constant  in  your 
attachment.  It  is  very  disgraceful 
to  abandon  a  friend  without  cause. 
None  are  so  ready  to  sin  in  this 
way  as  those  rash  youth  who  are 
too  hasty  in  becoming  intimate  with 
every  new  acquaintance.  The  na- 
tural consequence  is,  that  after  a 
few  days  or  weeks,  they  begin  to 
perceive  faults  which  they  had  not 
previously  allowed  themselves  time 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  Ill 

to  discern.  They  then  become  dis- 
gusted, grow  cool  in  their  affection, 
and  are  forced  to  look  around  them 
for  some  new  associate.  Such  was 
the  manner  of  Julius.  Whenever  a 
new  scholar  arrived,  Julius  was  the 
first  to  take  him  by  the  hand.  And 
this  was  not  a  mere  pretence,  for 
he  felt  the  friendship  he  professed. 
But  he  did  not  take  time  to  study 
the  character  of  his  playmates,  and 
therefore  it  was  only  two  or  three 
days  before  he  found  out  some  foible 
in  the  new-comer,  and  cast  him  off 
as  speedily  as  he  had  at  first  em- 
braced him.  Then  he  attached  him- 
self to  another,  and  another ;  and  so 
he  went  on,  until  he  had,  at  some 
time  or  other,  been  familiar  with  the 
whole  school,  and  had  abandoned 
them  all  in  turn.  Julius  changed 
his  friends  almost  as  often  as  his 
clothes.  Such  a  young  man  is  in- 
capable of  true  friendship ;  and  his 


112  LETTERS    TO    A 

reigning  fault  is  soon  discovered  by 
every  one.  Julius  is  despised  as  a 
fickle  and  inconstant  fellow. 

Beware  of  trusting  too  mucli  to  the 
professions  of  your  companions.  I 
would  not  have  you  surly,  morose, 
or  suspicious ;  but  all  is  not  gold  that 
glitters.  The  human  heart  is  deceit- 
ful, and  those  who  really  love  you 
to-day  may  be  altered  to-morrow 
When  you  have  tried  a  friend,  and 
found  him  faithful,  you  may  safely 
confide  to  him  even  your  private 
thoughts ;  but  take  care  that  you  are 
not  deceived.  Especially  avoid  the 
practice  of  telling  secrets,  particularly 
the  secrets  of  other  people,  to  your 
young  acquaintances.  It  is  a  gene- 
ral rule,  which  it  will  be  safe  for  you 
to  observe,  never  to  confide  a  secret 
to  any  one,  unless  you  want  either 
advice  or  assistance.  For,  if  you 
cannot  keep  your  own  counsel,  how 
can  you  expect  others  to  keep  it  for 


YOUNGER    BROTHER.  113 

you?  Whenever,  therefore,  you 
meet  with  a  person  who  is  frequently 
taking  you  aside,  to  whisper  some- 
thing into  your  ear,  "m  confidence,''^ 
you  may  be  sure  he  is  an  unsafe 
companion.  Tell  no  secrets  of  your 
own  to  such  a  one;  and  listen  to  as 
few  of  his  as  possible. 

Cherish  a  warm  attachment  to  your 
friends  when  they  are  in  any  trouble. 
''  A  friend  in  need  is  a  friend  indeed." 
And  Solomon  says:  "He  that  is  a 
friend  must  show  himself  friendly." 
To  forsake  a  companion  in  the  time 
when  he  most  needs  your  assistance 
is  base,  it  is  inhuman.  The  very 
heathen  may  teach  us  a  good  lesson 
on  this  subject.  ''  The  name  of  friend- 
ship," says  Ovid,  ''touches  the  hearts 
of  the  very  barbarians."  Cicero 
wrote  a  whole  book  on  the  subject 
of  friendship,  and  it  is  full  of  excel- 
lent sentiments.  You  have  perhaps 
read  the  beautiful  anecdote  of  Damon 

10* 


Ii4  LETTERS    TO    A 

and  Pythias;  it  is  related  by  Valerius 
Maximus.  Damon  was  condemned 
to  death  by  Dionysiiis  the  tyrant. 
He  obtained  leave,  however,  to  go 
home  and  settle  his  affairs,  promising 
to  return  to  the  place  of  execution  at 
a  certain  hour.  And  his  friend 
Pythias  surrendered  himself  to  the 
tyrant,  and  agreed  that  if  Damon 
was  not  there  at  the  time,  he  would 
himself  suffer  the  punishment  in 
his  place.  Dionysius  naturally  con- 
cluded that  Pythias  was  a  fool,  and 
that  Damon  would  be  glad  of  such 
an  opportunity  to  escape.  But,  be- 
hold !  w^hen  the  hour  arrived,  to  the 
astonishment  of  all,  Damon  appeared 
punctually  at  the  place,  and  declared 
that  he  was  ready  to  die.  The  cruel 
king  was  touched  by  this  ardent 
friendship;  he  forgave  the  offender, 
and  begged  that  he  might  be  num- 
bered among  their  friends. 

This  reminds  me  also  of  a  severe 


YOUNGER    BROTHER.  115 

?aying  of  the  cynic  Diogenes.  When 
he  was  asked  how  Dionysius  treated 
his  friends,  he  replied,  *' Just  as  one 
treats  earthen  vessels;  when  they 
are  fall,  he  empties  them;  when 
they  are  empty,  he  throws  them 
aside." 

Be  forbeaiing  towards  the  faults 
of  a  friend.  True,  you  must  not 
love  or  copy  his  faults;  indeed,  it  is 
an  important  part  of  friendship  to  re- 
prove and  correct  them.  But  do  not 
abandon  an  acquaintance  for  a  few 
faults,  or  even  for  a  great  one,  if  he 
has  been  truly  faithful,  and  if  you 
are  not  endangered  by  his  exam- 
ple. 

Cherish  a  mild  and  benevolent  tern- 
per  in  all  your  intercourse.  An  irri- 
table young  man  can  scarcely  be  a 
good  companion;  and  the  ill-humour 
is  contagious.  The  wisest  of  kings 
teaches  us  this  lesson:   "Make  no 


116  LETTERS    TO    A 

friendship  with  an  angry  man ;  and 
with  a  furious  man  thou  shalt  not 
go;  lest  thou  learn  his  ways,  and 
get  a  snare  to  thy  soul."  Prov. 
xxii.  24. 

Never  do  a  wrong  thing  for  the 
sake  of  friendship.  If  you  seriously 
observe  this  rule,  it  will  keep  you 
from  a  thousand  mischiefs.  When 
Pericles  was  asked  by  an  intimate 
acquaintance  to  bear  false  witness 
for  him,  that  great  man  answered, 
"I  am  your  friend  only  to  the  altars," 
meaning,  that  he  w^ould  go  as  far  to 
help  him  as  religion  would  allow. 

Try  to  make  salutary  impressions 
on  the  mmd%  of  your  friends.  Many 
thousands  have  been  converted  by 
means  of  friendl}^  ad  monition.  If  our 
acquaintances  w^ere  sick,  we  would 
try  to  heal  them;  how  much  more 
should  we  try  to  save  their  souls !  A 
single  word  of  affectionate  advice 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  1 

sometimes  does  more  good  than  many 
sermons.  And  when  a  youth  pro- 
fesses to  serve  God,  he  ought  to  be 
neither  ashamed  nor  afraid  to  open 
his  lips  in  behalf  of  his  Master's 
cause. 

I  trust  these  few  directions  (which 
I  might  multiply  a  hundred-fold)  will 
be  carefully  read  by  you,  and  faith- 
fully put  in  practice. 

Your  affectionate  brother, 

James 


118  LETTERS   TO   A 

LETTER  XIV. 

GOOD    EXAMPLE. 

My  dear  h'Other, — When  I  wrote 
to  you  about  the  dangers  of  evil  com- 
pany, I  did  not  wish  you  to  suppose 
that  you  must  avoid  all  society. 
This  would  be  very  wrong,  and 
would  make  you  mopish  and  sullen. 
I  desire  you  to  frequent  the  company 
of  all  such  young  friends  as  can  do 
you  good;  and  I  hope  there  are  some 
whose  example  you  would  do  well  to 
follow.  When  you  find  such  a  one, 
who  is  diligent,  kind,  respectful,  and 
serious,  you  will  act  wisely  to  be  as 
much  as  possible  with  him,  and  to 
follow  in  his  steps. 

It  is  very  true,  as  is  often  said,  that 
example  speaks  louder  than  words. 
We  often  think  that  certain  things 
are  impossible  until  we  see  them 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  119 

done  by  others,  and  then  we  begin 
to  attempt  them  ourselves.  There 
is  something  in  our  nature  which 
leads  us  to  imitate  the  example  of 
those  around  us.  It  is  thus  that  all 
the  boys  in  a  school  will  have  the 
same  sports  and  pastimes ;  one  learns 
from  another,  until  they  all  go  in  the 
same  path.  Now  you  should  take 
care  to  follow  none  but  good  exam- 
ples; and  here  you  will  have  to  be 
very  cautious,  for  our  evil  hearts  lead 
us  more  naturally  to  what  is  evil  than 
to  what  is  virtuous.  There  is  no- 
thing mean  or  low  in  copying  the 
good  example  of  your  friends.  It  is 
in  this  way  that  some  of  the  best  and 
greatest  men  have  become  what  they 
are. 

I  would  recommend  to  you  to  read 
the  lives  of  persons  who  have  been 
remarkable  for  their  knowledge  or 
their  goodness.  When  these  me- 
moirs are  well  written,  it  is  almost 


120  LETTERS    TO    A 

as  if  we  were  acquainted  with  the 
living  persons,  seeing  them  act  and 
hearing  them  speak.  There  is  no 
kind  of  reading  which  is  more  enter- 
taining than  biography,  and  there  is 
none  which  is  more  instructive.  In 
this  way  you  may  be  constantly  set- 
ting before  your  mind  the  brightest 
examples,  and  this  will  stir  you  up 
to  be  more  active  in  trying  to  im- 
prove. I  have  never  found  any 
books  which  made  me  more  anxious 
t-o  excel,  than  good  biographical 
sketches.  When  you  read  of  a  per- 
son who  has  raisecl  himself  from  ig- 
norance and  obscurity  to  learning 
and  honour,  by  his  own  endeavours, 
a  laudable  emulation  will  lead  you 
to  imitate  his  excellence.  Thus  the 
Life  of  Dr.  Franklin  has  caused 
many  a  young  mechanic  to  store  his 
mind  with  knowledge. 

But  the  best  of  all  biographies  are 
those  which   are   contained  in  the 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  121 

Holy  Scriptures.  Have  you  ever 
taken  notice  how  much  of  the  Bible 
is  filled  with  the  memoirs  of  good 
men?  The  reason  of  this  no  doubt 
is,  that  example  is  so  much  more 
powerful  than  precept.  The  four 
gospels  contain  the  memoirs  of  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ.  And  they  are 
so  beautifully  simple,  so  exact,  and 
so  touching,  that  we  seem  to  see  the 
blessed  Redeemer,  holy  and  benevo- 
lent, going  about  doing  good,  heal- 
ing the  sick,  cleansing  the  lepers, 
raising  the  dead.  We  seem  to  hear 
him  speaking  as  never  man  spake, 
and  the  influence  of  his  example  is 
most  powerful  upon  the  mind  of  the 
serious  reader.  My  dear  brother, 
read  these  lovely  histories  every  day. 
Try  to  frame  in  your  mind  all  the 
circumstances  of  the  scenes  there 
described.  Endeavour  to  feel  that 
it  is  Christ  himself  who  is  speaking 
to  you,  and  let  his  words  sink  into 

\l 


122  LETTERS   TO   A 

your  heart.  Find  out  how  he  acted 
under  all  different  circumstances, 
and  then  copy  his  example.  How 
did  he  treat  his  parents?  (Luke  ii. 
48  and  51.)  How  did  he  feel  to- 
wards the  afflicted?  How  did  he 
act  when  he  was  reviled  and  perse- 
cuted? What  was  his  manner  as  to 
prayer  and  devotion?  Every  hour 
of  the  day  be  careful  to  ask  yourself 
how  the  Lord  Jesus  would  have  act- 
ed under  similar  circumstances. 

It  is  an  advantage  for  young  people 
to  keep  compan}^  with  those  who  are 
older  and  wiser ;  but  there  are  few 
youth  who  have  any  taste  for  this 
kind  of  society.  They  are  too  apt  to 
think  that  elderly  persons  are  sour 
and  gloomy.  And  sometimes,  it  can- 
not be  denied  that  those  who  are  ad- 
vanced in  years  do  not  take  pains  to 
gratify  the  inquiries  of  the  young, 
and  to  do  them  good.  When,  how- 
ever, you  find  any  aged  man  who 


YOUNGER    BROTHER.  123 

loves  to  give  instruction  to  the  young, 
and  v^hose  example  is  beautiful  and 
pure,  try  to  be  as  much  v^ith  him  as 
possible.  I  have  known  such  a  one. 
Benevolus  is  a  man  of  threescore 
years.  His  hair  is  white  with  age, 
and  he  is  too  feeble  to  leave  the 
house.  But  he  is  happy,  because  he 
has  faith  in  Christ,  and  enjoys  the 
love  of  God  shed  abroad  in  his  heart. 
There  is  nothing  peevish  or  morose 
about  him,  and  he  welcomes  the 
visits  of  all  his  young  relations  and 
friends.  He  delights  in  teaching 
them  what  is  good,  and  in  giving 
them  the  history  of  his  early  days. 
And  all  who  come  into  his  presence 
see  the  excellence  of  true  religion, 
and  the  advantage  of  having  a  mind 
stored  with  useful  knowledge. 

I  have  said  so  much  about  follow- 
i7ig  good  example,  that  it  will  be  less 
needful  for  me  to  explain  the  import- 
ance of  your  setting  a  good  example 


124  LETTERS   TO    A 

f»  others.  No  one  of  us  is  allowed 
1x3  live  for  himself  alone,  but  we 
must  all  endeavour  to  do  good  to 
others.  We  are  commanded  to  let 
our  light  shine  before  men.  You 
must  not  suppose  that,  because  you 
are  so  young,  nobody  will  follow 
your  example.  If  you  do  what  is 
wrong,  others  of  your  companions 
will  be  encouraged  to  do  the  same; 
and  if  you  do  what  is  right,  you  may 
be  a  blessing  to  all  around  you.  One 
boy  in  a  school  will  often  be  of  ser- 
vice to  all  the  rest,  just  in  this  way. 
I  will  give  you  an  instance  of  such  a 
case,  and  take  notice  that  I  some- 
times invent  names,  because  I  have 
reasons  for  not  mentioning  the  indi- 
viduals. 

Tyro  was  a  young  lad  of  about 
fourteen.  He  was  sent  to  a  school 
where  most  of  the  boys  were  very 
idle.  They  cared  but  little  aboul 
the  improvement  of  their  minds,  and 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  125 

were  constantly  engaged  in  sports  and 
mischief.  Tyro  tried  to  set  them 
a  better  example.  He  got  every  les- 
son perfectly,  and  he  assisted  others 
in  their  tasks.  He  made  it  his  amuse- 
ment to  read  more  than  was  assigned 
for  liis  lesson,  and  he  induced  some 
of  the  idle  fellows  to  become  diligent. 
He  put  them  in  the  way  of  attempt- 
ing new  studies,  and  of  writing  com- 
positions. He  persuaded  them  to 
form  a  little  society  for  mutual  im- 
provement, and  had  many  little  plans 
of  this  kind,  for  their  benefit.  The 
consequence  was,  that  I  never  saw  a 
school  of  the  same  extent,  in  which 
there  were  so  many  fine  scholars. 
And  I  am  sure  that  Tyro  was  more 
influential  in  this  than  even  the 
teacher  himself.  Think  of  this  ex- 
ample. 

You  cannot  go  through  life  without 
having  some  influence  upon  others. 
This  influence  is  either  for  good  or 
11* 


126  LETTERS   TO    A 

for  evil.  You  may  be  either  a  bless- 
ing or  a  curse.  Pray  and  strive  that 
your  example  may  do  good  to  all 
around  you.  Endeavour  to  lead 
others  in  the  right  w^ay,  especialh'^ 
the  way  of  religion.  You  cannot 
begin  this  too  soon,  and  in  future  life, 
it  will  be  very  pleasing  for  you  to 
look  back  and  see  that  you  had  early 
begun  to  be  useful  to  your  fellow 
creatures.  Ask  assistance  from 
above,  that  you  may  be  enabled  to 
live  in  this  way.  And  remember 
that  many  eyes  are  fixed  upon  you, 
to  see  how  you  will  act,  and  that  the 
happiness  of  your  friends,  and  espe- 
cially of  your  affectionate  parents, 
depends  greatly  upon  your  conduct. 
Your  affectionate  brother, 

James. 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.    *         127 


LETTER  XV. 

TRUTH    AND    FALSEHOOD. 

My  dear  brother^ — Few  names  are 
considered  more  disgraceful  than  that 
of  a  liar.  This  is  justly  so;  for 
the  vice  is  odious,  injurious  to  so- 
ciety, and  offensive  to  God.  Truth 
is  the  chief  bond  between  man  and 
man  in  society.  If  every  one  spoke 
without  regard  to  truth,  our  reputa- 
tion, property,  and  lives  would  be  in 
jeopardy  every  moment.  We  should 
never  know  when  to  believe  a  neigh- 
bour ;  or  by  believing  falsehood,  we 
might  be  led  into  the  greatest  danger. 

You  will  commonly  take   notice 
that  boys  who  lie,  very  soon  show 
that  they  are  ready  for  other  vices 
He  who  can  so  violate  his  conscience 
as  to  tell  a  wilful  lie,  will  soon  find 


128         '        LETTERS    TO   A 

it  equally  easy  to  violate  his  ^')n- 
science  by  cursing,  swearing,  or 
stealing.  Indeed,  lying  and  stealing 
are  nearly  related.  Lying  is  dis- 
honesty in  words ;  theft  is  dishonesty 
in  deeds.  I  know  a  young  man  at 
school  who  was  noted  for  his  disre- 
gard of  truth.  He  became  a  physi- 
cian, and  very  soon  after  was  con- 
victed of  a  very  atrocious  act  of 
dishonesty.  Another  was  for  a  long 
time  suspected  of  no  crime  but  false- 
hood ;  it  was  not  long,  however,  be- 
fore he  was  caught  stealing  the 
wearing  apparel  of  his  friends.  Both 
these  were  young  men  of  liberal 
education. 

The  great  reason  why  we  should 
maintain  the  truth  is,  that  God  re- 
quires it  of  us.  ^'  Putting  away 
lying,  speak  every  man  truth  with 
his  neighbour ;  for  we  are  members 
one  of  another."  Eph.  iv.  25  .  False- 
hood is  hateful  to  God.     We  seem 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  129 

to  offer  him  a  direct  insult  whenever 
we  speak  what  is  untrue,  because 
he  is  always  present,  and  nothing 
can  escape  his  omniscience. 

Whenever  we  wilfully  deceive, 
we  are  guilty  of  falsehood,  whatever 
be  the  words  uttered.  Indeed,  we 
we  may  lie  without  uttering  any 
words  at  all — by  mere  signs.  We 
may  deceive  by  being  altogether 
silent ;  and  this  is  wrong  in  all  cases 
where  others  have  a  right  to  any 
information  from  us.  From  this  you 
will  perceive  that  all  equivocations, 
or  expressions  with  two  meanings, 
are  falsehoods,  when  the  person 
hearing  them  understands  them  so 
as  to  be  deceived  by  them.  I  would 
earnestly  recommend  to  you  to  avoid 
even  the  very  appearance  of  evil  in 
this  thing,  and  never,  even  in  jest,  to 
sport  with  truth.  It  is  so  awful  a 
thing  to  offend  God  by  a  lie,  that  it 
is  the  part  of  wisdom  never  to  speak 


130  LETTERS    TO    A 

what  is  untrue,  even  for  the  purposes 
of  amusement. 

I  am  afraid  that  young  persons  at 
our  pubhc  schools  are  too  httle  im- 
pressed with  the  importance  of  this 
subject.  It  is  often  thought  quite  a 
feat  when  a  boy,  by  a  clever  false- 
hood, can  escape  punishment  for  a 
fault ;  and  thus  by  treating  a  great 
sin  in  a  very  trifling  matter,  the  con- 
science becomes  seared  as  with  a  hot 
iron.  It  is  alarming  to  see  how 
readily  children  learn  to  depart  from 
the  truth,  and  how  hard  it  is  to  era- 
dicate the  habit.  I  know  people 
whom  I  consider  pious,  but  who 
have  never  entirely  overcome  the 
propensity  to  stretch  their  expres- 
sions beyond  the  actual  fact.  This 
is  what  is  called  exaggeration  or 
hyperbole,  both  which  words  mean 
about  the  same  ;  that  is,  heaping  up 
expressions  beyond  the  simple  mat- 
ter described,  or  letting  our  language 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  131 

shoot  over  the  plain  truth.  Avoid 
this.  It  is  here,  if  anywhere,  that 
you  are  in  danger.  I  cannot  believe 
that  you  would  tell  a  wilful  false- 
hood; but  most  young  persons  are 
apt  to  exaggerate.  Thus,  if  a  ser- 
vant neglects  your  horse  two  or  three 
times,  you  will  perhaps  say  in  anger, 
*^  Thomas  has  forgotten  to  feed  my 
horse  every  day:''  or,  "he  never 
thinks  of  feeding  my  horse."  Thus, 
also,  in  describing  a  thunder-storm, 
some  persons  always  describe  it  as 
the  loudest  and  most  alarming  they 
ever  heard  in  their  lives.  This  sort 
of  exaggeration  is  most  common 
among  those  who  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  the  use  of  hyperbolical  or 
extravagant  phrases  in  common  dis- 
course. Thus  some  persons  cannot 
speak  of  a  hearty  laugh  without  say- 
ing, "  He  almost  killed  himself  with 
laughing."  Every  warm  day  is  the 
hottest  they  ever  felt;    and   every 


132  LETTERS   TO   A 

ungainly  man,  the  ugliest  man  they 
ever  saw.  Beware  of  all  such  un- 
meaning exaggerations,  for  you  may 
be  assured  they  lead  to  the  evil  habit 
against  which  I  am  warning  you. 

It  is  commonly  said,  and  with 
truth,  that  great  talkers  are  apt  to 
exaggerate.  I  hope  you  will  never 
become  noted  as  a  great  talker; 
although  I  have  met  with  persons 
who  seemed  to  take  a  vulgar  pride 
in  their  very  loquacity.  "In  the 
multitude  of  words,  there  lacketh  not 
sin,"  and  you  will  be  upon  the  safe 
side  by  repressing  your  desire  to 
talk.  Very  loquacious  persons  com- 
monly talk  much  nonsense,  and,  in 
order  to  excite  attention,  sometimes 
set  their  invention  to  work,  and  give 
a  high  colour  to  all  they  describe. 
Let  me  enjoin  it  upon  you,  to  fix  in 
your  mind  a  sacred  reverence  for 
truth;  and  whenever  you  describe 
any  incident,  take  care  to  describe  it 


.    YOUNGER   BROTHER.  133 

precisely  as  it  occurred.  Even  let 
your  description  be  fiat  or  cold, 
rather  than  run  the  risk  of  exag- 
geration. 

Let  your  soul  be  impressed  with 
the  awful  majesty  of  God,  as  being 
the  witness  of  every  word  you  utter, 
and  you  will  lose  all  temptation  to 
violate  the  truth. 

Your  affectionate  brother, 

James. 


12 


134  LETTERS  TO   A 

LETTER  XVI. 

INDEPENDENCE. 

My  dear  brother^ — The  ancients 
made  fortitude  one  ot  the  four  cardi- 
nal virtues ;  meaning  by  this  term, 
not  merely  the  power  of  enduring 
pain,  but  every  thing  that  we  now 
call  courage ;  and  they  used  to  say, 
with  truth,  that  where  there  w^as  no 
fortitude,  the  other  virtues  w^ere  left 
defenceless.  I  have  often  thought 
that  half  the  bad  actions  of  boys 
arise  from  a  sort  of  cowardice,  a 
want  of  manly  independence.  Peter 
vrill  not  wear  his  new  hat  for  several 
days  after  he  gets  it,  for  fear  James 
will  laugh  at  him.  And  James, 
though  he  knows  it  is  wrong  to  play 
truant,  does  so,  lest  Charles  should 
think  him  a  coward.  In  our  old- 
time  schools,  when  we  used  to  "  bar 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  135 

out"  the  master,  it  was  this  false 
shame  or  want  of  moral  courage 
which  kept  most  of  the  lads  from 
surrendering,  even  after  they  had 
found  out  that  they  were  in  the 
wrong. 

Make  it  a  rule  for  life  to  do  what 
you  know  to  be  right,  no  matter 
what  others  think  or  say.  Do  your 
duty,  and  leave  the  consequences  to 
God.  Some  people  lose  their  souls 
from  neglect  of  this.  They  know 
very  well  that  they  ought  to  pray, 
and  read  the  Scriptures,  and  attend 
on  other  means  of  grace,  and  own 
Christ  by  a  public  profession ;  but 
they  are  afraid  of  the  scoffs  of  the 
world — they  hesitate — they  procras- 
tinate— they  are  lost. 

Remember,  my  dear  boy,  that  you 
are  now  forming  your  character  for 
life.     When  you  trained  the  wood 
bine   around    the    columns   of  our 
piazza,  its  stock  was  very  slender. 


136  LETTERS    TO    A 

You  could  bend  it  with  your  finger 
and  thumb.  I  looked  at  it  yester- 
day ;  it  is  as  thick  as  my  wrist,  and 
perfectly  hard  and  immovable.  You 
might  break  it,  but  you  could  not 
possibly  alter  its  twists.  The  wood- 
bine has  a  habit  of  being  twisted. 
This  habit  was  formed  when  it  was 
tender  and  supple.  If  it  had  been 
trained  between  long  iron  bars,  I 
suppose  it  might  have  got  a  habit  of 
being  straight.  But  it  is  now  too 
late  to  straighten  it.  Now,  is  it  not 
possible  that  my  dear  brother  is 
growing  crooked?  You  take  my 
meaning.  Is  it  not  possible  that 
you  are  getting  habits  which  are 
wrong?  My  heart's  wish  is  for  you 
to  grow  up  in  such  a  way  as  to  be 
erect,  upright,  noble,  in  all  your  prin-^^ 
ciples.  If  you  are  always  reckoning 
what  John,  or  Maria,  or  this  man,  or 
those  girls,  or  the  world  at  large  will 
think  of  you,  it  is  certain  you  can 


YOUNGER    BROTHER.  137 

never  nave  any  manly  firmness.  I 
wish  you  to  begin  from  the  hour  you 
read  this,  to  do  what  is  right  in  every 
particular,  in  spite  of  what  ignorant 
or  wicked  youth  may  say.  There  is 
Lewis  Lee,  your  Philadelphia  ac- 
quaintance. He  is  altogether  a  slave 
to  other  people's  notions.  I  remem- 
ber that  last  summer  he  refused  to 
attend  his  mother  to  the  steamboat, 
because  he  had  found  out  that  some 
young  gentlemen  in  Chestnut  street 
had  made  free  with  the  cut  of  his 
coat.  Lewis  is  not  afraid  of  telling 
an  untruth ;  but  he  cannot  bear  to 
be  the  object  of  ridicule.  Again  I 
say,  he  independent.  Try  to  get  right 
opinions,  and  to  do  right  acts ;  and 
bid  defiance  to  idle  remark.  But 
be  not  hasty  in  forming  opinions ; 
be  not  obstinate  in  retaining  them. 
Take  the  advice  of  the  wise  and  the 
good,  and  use  every  means  to  learn 
12* 


138  LETTERS   TO   A 

the  best  path.    Only  stick  to  it  when 
you  are  sure  that  you  are  in  it. 

Want  of  this  firmness  ruins  thou- 
sands of  young  men  every  year.  In 
our  colleges,  most  of  the  disturbances 
and  rebellions  which  take  place  are 
from  this  source.  A  few  youth, 
who  are  perhaps  already  in  disgrace, 
inveigle  a  number  of  others  into 
their  plots ;  and  the  latter,  like  silly 
sheep,  follow  wherever  the  ringlead- 
ers go.  Why?  O,  because  it  would 
expose  them  to  contempt  or  insult  to 
go  back,  or  return  to  honourable  obe- 
dience. They  put  on  a  bold  face, 
but  they  are  chicken-hearted  in  real- 
ity. Not  one  of  them  can  stand 
alone,  or  think  for  himself  These 
are  the  lads  who  grow  up  to  be 
"men  of  honour,"  (that  is  the  name 
they  have,)  duellists,  fashionable 
murderers.  O  beware  of  such  yield- 
ing weakness !    Fear  God,  my  child- 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  139 

ren,  said  a  great  Frenchman,  have  no 
other  fear. 

Your  affectionate  brother, 

James. 


LETTER  XVII. 

FALSE    SHAME. 

My  dear  brother, — Long  ago  I  read 
in  one  of  Miss  Edgeworth's  tales  a 
maxim  which  has  remained  in  my 
memory  ever  since.  It  was  to  this 
effect :  No  one  rvill  ever  become  great 
who  is  afraid  of  being  laughed  at. 
Now  I  do  not  wish  you  to  seek  after 
the  empty  and  false  greatness  of  this 
world.  Ambition  of  this  kind  is 
contrary  to  the  mind  of  Christ.  But 
I  desire  you  to  have  true  greatness, 
virtuous  independence,  frankness, 
generosity,  firmness,  and  decision  of 
character. 


140  LETTERS    TO    A 

Lv, .  It  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  spend 
time  in  proving  to  yon  that  the  evil 
of  which  I  speak  is  very  common. 
Look  around  among  your  acquaint- 
ances, and  you  will  see  many  who  are 
more  afraid  of  ridicule  than  they  are 
of  pain.  I  knew  a  remarkable  in 
stance  of  this  fault.  Lucius  was  a 
playmate  of  mine  at  school,  and  a 
very  intimate  friend.  He  was  a  lad 
of  genius,  and  of  many  good  qualities, 
but  the  fear  of  ridicule  was  ruinous 
to  him.  It  spoiled  almost  all  his  fine 
traits.  There  was  nothing  so  terri- 
ble to  him  as  a  laugh.  At  any  time 
he  would  have  chosen  a  whipping 
rather  than  a  sneer  from  his  school- 
mates. He  therefore  was  led  to  do 
many  wrong  things,  and  kept  from 
doing  many  right  things,  by  his  false 
shame.  Lucius  did  not  stop  to  ask 
whether  any  particular  thing  was 
right  or  wrong  in  the  sight  of  God ; 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  141 

the  first  question  in  his  mind  was, 
What  will  people  think  of  it? 

The  effect  of  this  mental  disease 
was  soon  manifested,  and  it  showed 
itself  in  some  ways  wiiich  were  really 
ridiculous.  For  example,  Lucius 
became  so  fully  possessed  of  the  idea 
that  e very-body  was  looking  at  him, 
and  criticising  him,  that  whenever 
he  walked  the  streets  his  whole  air 
was  affected  by  it.  If  he  got  a  new 
coat,  or  hat,  he  was  in  misery,  lest 
they  shouM  draw  attention.  On  a 
certain  occasion,  I  have  even  known 
him  to  walk  through  a  puddle  of 
water  in  order  to  conceal  the  gloss 
of  a  new  pair  of  boots.  The  same 
foolish  pride  made  him  refuse  the 
most  useful  articles  of  dress,  if  they 
were  a  little  uncommon.  He  seemed 
to  imagine  that  he  was  an  object  of 
universal  attention,  and  was  a  mere 
slave  to  the  opinions  of  others. 

Lucius  was  soon  rendered  very 


142  LETTERS   TO   A 

unhappy;  for  it  was  not  long  before 
the  boys  discovered  his  reigning 
foible.  They  took  pleasure  in  laugh- 
ing at  his  dress,  his  features,  his 
tones,  his  walk,  and  almost  every 
thing  which  he  said  or  did.  Poor 
Lucius  could  not  keep  his  counte- 
nance under  their  raillery ;  and  some- 
times his  eyes  would  fill  wdth  tears 
of  mortification.  This  temper  grew 
up  with  him,  and  the  consequence  is, 
that  he  is  a  poor,  feeble,  undecided, 
wavering  fellow,  who  i^  afraid  to 
take  his  course  with  a  manly  firm- 
ness, and  must  learn  the  opinion  of 
every  one  around  him,  before  he 
ventures  upon  any  proceeding. 

This  ridiculous  pride,  or  false 
shame,  is  something  more  than  a 
mere  laughable  peculiarity.  It  pro- 
duces real  misery,  both  to  the  sub- 
ject of  it  and  to  others.  Thus  many 
persons  are  kept  from  seeking  the 
favour  of  God  by  fear  of  being  ridi- 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  143 

culed.  In  like  manner,  many  neg- 
lect  the  duty  of  professing  Christ 
before  men,  for  the  same  cause. 
One  young  man  is  ashamed  to  be- 
come a  Sunday-school  teacher;  peo- 
ple will  take  notice  of  it,  and  he  will 
DO  laughed  at !  Another  young  man 
is  afraid  to  own  that  he  has  religious 
feelings,  or  to  say  a  word  to  his  un- 
godly companions,  lest  they  should 
scoff  at  him.  Thus  God  is  disho- 
noured, and  souls  are  lost. 

Read  the  histories  of  great  men, 
and  you  will  see  how  diiferent  were 
their  feelings.  If  Howard  had  re- 
garded those  who  used  to  call  him 
''Mad  Jack  Howard,"  we  never 
should  have  heard  of  his  benevolent 
deeds.  Or  to  go  further  back,  if  Co- 
lumhus  had  been  afraid  of  ridicule, 
America  might  not  have  been  disco- 
vered. 

Cultivate  the  habit  of  doing  what 
is  right,  come  what  will.     Be  firm, 


144  LETTERS    TO   A 

be  manly;  have  right  opinions,  and 
hold  them  fast.  The  dread  of  idle 
laughter  is  the  meanest  sort  of  cow- 
ardice. Begin  at  once  to  overcome 
it.  Especially  in  matters  of  duty 
and  religion,  beware  how  you  suffer 
the  fear  of  man  to  ensnare  you.  I 
have  known  young  men  who  would 
rather  be  detected  in  lying  or  swear- 
ing, than  let  it  be  known  that  they 
had  retired  for  private  devotion.  And 
I  have  seen  boys  who  would  shut 
their  Bible  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye,  and  pretend  to  be  doing  some- 
thing else,  if  any  one  came  into  the 
room  where  they  were  reading.  How 
mean,  how  foolish,  how  wicked,  is 
such  a  temper !  Scorn  to  be  guilty 
of  this  baseness  of  mind.  A  proper 
regard  for  the  opinion  of  others  is 
surely  desirable;  but  as  a  rational, 
an  accountable,  an  immortal  being, 
do  not  suffer  yourself  to  be  in  servi- 
tude to  other  minds:   above  all,  do 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  145 

not  submit  to  the  paltry  laughter  of 
those  who  are  perhaps  far  inferior  in 
judgment  to  yourself 

I  repeat  it,  then,  begin  at  once  to 
conquer  this  failing,  if  you  are  con- 
scious of  it  in  any  degree.  Do  what 
you  believe  to  be  right,  in  all  cases ; 
do  it  at  once,  and  at  all  risks.  Suppose 
idle,  foolish,  or  wicked  persons  laugh 
at  you.  What  then?  Does  their 
laughter  injure  you?  Or  will  their 
good  opinion  repay  you  for  the  loss 
of  a  good  conscience?  Is  not  the 
praise  of  God  better  than  the  praise 
of  man?  You  may  depend  upon  it 
as  an  undoubted  truth,  that  the  very 
way  to  avoid  mortification  is,  to  de- 
spise ignorant  ridicule ;  and  the  very 
way  to  be  constantly  on  the  rack  of 
confusion  and  injured  vanity  is,  to 
yield  to  the  scoffings  of  the  unwise. 
And  in  the  things  of  religion,  to  be 
governed  by  fear  of  shame  is  not 
only  foolish,  but  impious.     It  is  no- 

13 


146  LETTERS   TO    A 

thing  less  than  preferring  man  to 
God!  Remember  the  words  of 
Christ:  "  Whosoever  shall  he  ashamed 
of  me  and  of  my  words,  of  him  shall 
the  Son  of  man  he  ashamed,  when  he 
shall  come  in  his  own  glory,  and  in 
his  Father's,  and  of  the  holy  angels'''' 
Luke  ix.  26.     Farewell. 

Your  affectionate  brother, 

James. 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  147 

LETTER  XVIII. 

EVIL    SPEAKING. 

My  dear  brother, — The  sins  of  the 
tongue  are,  perhaps,  more  numerous 
than  all  our  other  outward  offences. 
And  faults  of  this  kind  are  very  com- 
mon in  young  persons.  It  is  not 
usual  to  find  a  youth  who  is  not  fond 
of  talking,  and  where  there  is  much 
talking,  as  I  have  said  to  you  before, 
there  is  commonly  much  sin.  Very 
few  boys  or  girls  feel  the  importance 
of  keeping  a  strict  watch  over  their 
lips  :  and  hence,  much  of  their  time 
is  taken  up  in  idle,  unprofitable,  and 
wicked  conversation. 

I  hope  I  need  not  say  a  word 
more  to  you  about  wilful  lying,  pro- 
fan  eness,  or  slander.  These  you 
have  been  taught  to  abhor.  But 
there  are  vices,  allied  to  these,  and 


148  LETTERS    TO    A 

partaking  of  their  character,  into 
which  young  persons  are  very  apt  to 
fall.  Their  wickedness  is  not  so 
open  and  glaring,  and  therefore  they 
are  committed  without  compunc- 
tion. 

When  )^oung  people  are  talking 
together,  in  high  spirits,  nothing  is 
more  natural  than  for  them  to  con- 
verse about  their  neighbours  and 
acquaintances  ;  and  they  are  as  likely 
to  speak  of  the  faults,  as  the  excellen- 
cies of  these  persons.  In  this  way, 
the  habit  is  formed  of  remarking 
too  freely  on  personal  character,  and 
thas  many,  before  they  suspect 
themselves,  fall  into  the  vice  of  slan- 
der. Even  when  you  know  of  an 
offence  committed  by  another,  it  is 
right  to  say  nothing  of  it,  except\^ 
where  silence  would  plainly  be  a  sin. 
''  He  that  covereth  a  transgression 
seeketh  love."  Prov.  xvii.  9.  Cha- 
rity, or  true  Christian  love  rejoiceth 


YOUNGER    BROTHER.  149 

not  in  iniquity — belie veth  all  things 
— hopeth  all  things. 

In  general,  the  less  you  talk  about 
absent  persons  the  better.  Espe- 
cially, the  less  you  speak  of  their 
faults,  the  better.  Some  boys  are  in 
a  hurry  to  repeat  every  thing  they 
hear  about  the  misdeeds  of  their 
acquaintances.  This  shows  a  low 
and  depraved  temper.  We  may 
slander,  even  by  speaking  the  truth ; 
and  if  we  loved  our  neighbour  as 
ourselves,  we  should  conceal  his 
frailties,  just  as  we  always  try  to 
conceal  our  own.  The  character  of 
a  slanderer  is  justly  abhorred.  Try 
to  avoid  even  the  appearance  of 
being  such.  The  Scriptures  de- 
scribe the  good  man  as  one  ''that 
backbite th  not  with  his  tongue."' 
Ps.  XV.  3.  And  they  class  together 
"backbiters,  and  haters  of  God." 
Rom.  i.  30.  In  order  to  keep  clear 
of  this  vice,  beware  of  tale-hearing. 


150  LETTERS    TO    A 

There  are  some  things,  indeed,  which 
your  duty  as  a  son  or  a  pupil  will 
constrain  you  to  make  known ;  and 
this  ought  not  to  be  called  tale-bear- 
ing, but  faithfulness. 

What  I  mean  to  guard  you  against 
is,  the  disposition  to  tattle  about 
every  fault  or  misdemeanour  of  your 
pla3^mates  or  friends.  So  far  as  it 
is  practicable  or  lawful,  be  the  last 
to  carry  the  bad  tidings  of  a  trans- 
gression. Be  careful  not  to  say  any 
thing  about  others,  which  you  would 
not  be  willing  they  should  hear,  or 
which  you  would  not  be  willing  they 
shall  say  of  you. 

Harsh  and  reviling  language  used 
towards  others  is  a  kind  of  slander. 
It  injures  the  feelings  and  the  cha- 
racter of  those  to  whom  it  is  address- 
ed. And  it  is,  perhaps,  more  com- 
mon among  boys  than  among  men; 
for  as  persons  grow  up  to  years  of 
maturity,  they  learn  the  imprudence 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  151 

and  the  danger  of  abusing  their 
neighbours  with  violent  words.  "  Re- 
vilers,"  we  are  told,  ''  shall  not  in- 
herit the  kingdom  of  God."  I  Cor. 
Ti.  10. 

A  very  common  sort  of  indirect 
slander  is  the  ridicule  often  be- 
stowed by  the  young  upon  the  foibles 
of  their  acquaintance.  You  often 
hear  boys  laughing  at  the  peculiari- 
ties of  some  unfortunate  youth,  and 
amusing  themselves  with  his  looks, 
his  walk,  his  pronunciation,  or  his 
dress.  Where  there  is  a  talent  for 
mimicry,  this  disposition  is  still  more 
encouraged.  Young  persons  are  fond 
of  ''taking  oif"  every  thing  ridicu- 
lous in  their  playmates.  Very  few 
persons  seem  to  regard  this  as  wrong; 
but  a  little  consideration  will  con- 
vince you  that  it  is  so ;  for  we  always 
think  less  of  any  one  who  is  thus 
held  up  in  a  ludicrous  point  of  view ; 
and  this  is  the  very  eifect  produced 


162  LETTERS    TO   A 

by  slander.  The  offence  becomes  a 
crime  when  the  ridicule  is  aimed 
at  the  natural  defects  or  misfortunes 
of  others.  None  but  the  most  hard- 
hearted will  sport  with  the  infirmi- 
ties of  the  aged,  the  blind,  the 
crippled,  or  the  poor.  And  I  would 
advise  you  to  shun  the  company  of 
any  boy  who  is  in  the  habit  of  laugh- 
ing at,  or  mimicking  the  natural  and 
unavoidable  peculiarities  of  those 
around  him. 

Take  care,  my  dear  brother,  how 
you  censure  the  faults  of  any.  Per 
haps  you  are  guilty  of  the  very  same. 
Or,  if  not,  perhaps  the  report  you 
have  heard  is  untrue.  Or,  even  if  it 
is  true,  there  may  be  palliating  cir- 
cumstances of  which  you  are  igno 
rant.  Or,  even  at  the  worst,  if  it 
should  be  all  that  you  might  imagine, 
it  can  do  no  good  to  remark  upon  it, 
and  you  may  be  inflicting  an  injury 
which  you  can  never  repair.    There 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  153 

s  scarcely  any  thing  so  dear  to  man 
as  reputation ;  and  when  this  is  once 
stained  by  calumny,  it  is  exceed- 
ingly hard,  and  often  impossible,  to 
remove  the  spot. 

You  are  now  forming  habits  for 
life.  I  pray  you,  avoid  this  habit 
of  evil-speaking.  It  is  one  of  the 
most  common  sins  of  mankind,  and 
therefore  I  am  the  more  earnest  that 
you  should  escape  it.  Do  not  even 
listen  to  slander.  Let  all  around 
you  know,  that  it  gives  you  no  plea- 
sure to  hear  your  fellow  creatures 
traduced. 

Last  of  all ;  the  surest  method  of 
avoiding  habits  of  evil-speaking,  is 
to  maintain  sincere  love  for  all  your 
fellow-creatures.  We  never  will- 
ingly injure  those  we  sincerely  love. 
We  never  speak  bitterly  and  slan- 
derously of  our  own  dear  relations. 
And  so  far  as  we  have  true  charity 


154  LETTERS   TO   A 

for  all  mankind,  we  shall  avoid  the 
very  appearance  of  calumny. 
Your  affectionate  brother, 

James. 


LETTER  XIX. 

BENEVOLENCE. 

My  dear  brother, — If  I  were  to 
send  you  ten  dollars  to  spend  as  you 
choose,  after  you  had  purchased  such 
things  as  you  need,  what  would  you 
do  with  the  remainder  ?  I  am  sure 
you  would  take  much  more  pleasure 
in  giving  it  to  some  poor,  starving 
family,  than  in  laying  it  out  upon 
toys  and  eatables.  The  satisfaction 
would  last  much  longer.  When  the 
miserable  sufferers  thanked  you,  it 
would  give  you  delight;  your  own 
conscience  would  tell  you  that  you 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  155 

had  done  right ;  and  whenever  you 
thought  of  it  afterwards,  it  would  be 
with  pleasure.  But  besides  all  this, 
there  is  satisfaction  in  the  very  act 
of  doing  good.  There  is  something 
delightful  in  the  very  feeling  of  love. 
I  wish  you  to  think  a  little  about 
this.  The  feeling  of  which  I  have 
just  written  is  called  benevolence,  or 
good-will.  It  is  the  disposition  to 
do  good — to  make  others  happy.  It 
is  what  the  Bible  calls  charity.  And 
it  always  gives  pleasure,  for  we  can- 
not love  any  one  sincerely  without 
feeling  a  degree  of  happiness  for  the 
moment.  Just  think  of  the  times 
when  you  have  felt  most  affectionate 
towards  your  dear  parents.  Was  it 
not  a  delightful  feeling?  And  when 
a  kind  mother  presses  her  infant  to 
her  bosom,  does  she  not  enjoy  more 
than  if  some  one  did  a  favour  to  her- 
self ?  It  is  always  so.  And,  there- 
lore,  the  more  benevolent  you  are^ 


156  LETTERS    TO    A 

the  more  happiness  you  will  have. 
If  you  wish  to  be  peaceful  in  your 
mind,  do  as  much  good  as  you  can. 

This  is  a  great  part  of  true  reli- 
gion. Tliou  slialt  love  thy  neighbour 
as  thyself.  And  wherever  this  love 
or  benevolence  is  in  any  one's  heart, 
it  will  make  him  do  good.  He  will 
try  to  be  useful,  and  to  make  every 
one  happy  around  him.  Religion 
begins  in  the  heart,  but  it  does  not 
end  there.  It  leads  persons  to  act. 
People  may  talk  about  religion,  and 
tell  how  many  good  feelings  they 
have ;  but  if  they  never  do  good,  if 
the5^  are  not  active,  there  is  reason 
to  fear  that  they  have  no  religion  at 
all.  And  therefore  the  Scripture 
always  makes  this  a  mark  of  true 
piety.  The  apostle  James  says, 
"  Pure  religion  and  undefiled  before 
God  and  the  Father  is  this  :  to  visit 
the  fatherless  and  the  rvidows  in  their 
affltctiony  and  to  keep  himself  ug- 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  157 

spotted  from  the  world."  Is  it  not 
a  contradiction  to  speak  of  a  pious 
man  who  does  no  good  ?  You  see  at 
once  that  it  is.  An  idle  Christian  is 
no  true  Christian.  We  are  all  sent 
into  the  w^orld  to  honour  God,  and 
we  do  this  whenever  we  perform 
what  is  good. 

Young  persons  ought  to  begin  as 
soon  as  possible  to  put  this  in  prac- 
tice. There  is  such  a  thing  as  learn- 
ing to  do  good,  and  forming  a  habit 
of  doing  good;  and  we  cannot  begin 
too  soon.  Perhaps  you  will  say  that 
you  do  not  know  where  to  begin.  I 
will  tell  you.  Begin  with  the  very 
next  person  you  meet;  with  those 
who  are  around  you  now ;  with  your 
relatives  and  your  companions.  Try 
to  make  every  one  happy  to  the  ut- 
most of  your  power.  Avoid  every 
thing,  in  your  actions,  your  words, 
and  your  very  looks,  which  could 
give  unnecessary  pain.  Keep  this 
14 


158  LETTERS   TO   A 

Tip  at  all  times.  Thus  you  will  con- 
stantly be  cherishing  a  benevolent 
temper.  If  you  are  kind  and  affec- 
tionate in  small  matters^  I  am  sure 
you  will  be  so  in  those  which  are 
more  important.  There  is  an  old 
saying  about  money  matters  which 
you  may  have  heard  :  Take  care  of 
the  pence,  and  the  'pounds  will  take 
itare  of  themselves.  The  meaning  of 
this  is,  that  people  lose  more  by 
neglecting  small  sums  of  money, 
than  by  losing  larger  ones.  Almost 
any  man  will  take  care  of  a  hundred 
dollar  note.  He  will  carry  it  in 
his  pocket-book  for  months,  without 
losing  it.  But  during  the  same  time, 
he  will  perhaps  squander  away  as 
much  by  little  and  little.  If  he  had 
taken  good  care  of  these  small  sums, 
he  might  have  saved  a  good  deal. 
So  it  is  with  respect  to  benevolence. 
Almost  any  man  will  be  benevolent 
when  there  is  any  dreadful  suffering 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  159 

which  he  can  reheve,  or  any  great 
act  of  charity  which  he  can  do. 
But  perhaps  this  very  same  man 
will  all  the  time  be  unkind  and 
pettish  to  his  family,  and  will  make 
every  one  near  him  feel  unpleasantly. 
But  if  you  begin  v^ith  these  little 
things,  which  are  occurring  every 
day  and  every  hour,  you  will  pre- 
serve a  benevolent  disposition  the 
whole  time,  and  will  be  more  ready 
to  do  some  greater  act  of  charity 
when  it  is  called  for. 

There  have  been  some  men  so 
benevolent,  that  they  have  spent 
almost  all  their  lives  in  trying  to 
relieve  the  distressed.  One  of  the 
most  remarkable  of  these  was  How- 
ard, who  for  this  reason  is  usually 
called  the  phiIa?ithropist,  that  is,  the 
"  lover  of  mankind."  John  Howard 
was  born  at  Clayton,  in  England,  in 
the  year  1727.  His  father  left  him 
a  large  estate,  but  his  health  was  so 


160  LETTERS    TO    A 

infirm,  during  his  youth,  that  he  did 
not  engage  in  much  active  business. 
He  was  a  man  of  a  kind  and  tender 
heart,  and  was  always  seeking  to  do 
good.  When  the  dreadful  earth- 
quake took  place  which  overwhelm- 
ed the  city  of  Lisbon,  he  was  so 
touched  with  pity  that  he  undertook 
a  voyage  to  Portugal,  in  1755,  to  see 
if  he  could  give  any  relief  to  the  in- 
habitants. But  he  was  taken  by  a 
French  ship,  and  carried  into  Brest, 
where  he  remained  some  months  as 
a  prisoner.  Here  he  began  to  learn 
how  many  distresses  were  suffered 
by  those  who  are  confined  in  jails, 
and  his  benevolent  spirit  longed  to 
relieve  them.  When  he  returned  to 
England,  he  made  man)^  inquiries 
on  this  subject,  and  began  to  examin 
all  the  prisons  in  England,  in  order 
to  reform  them.  He  wrote  books 
about  this,  and  procured  new  laws 
to  be  passed  by  the  parliament. 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  161 

But  Howard  was  not  contented 
with  lessening  the  sufferings  of  pri- 
soners in  England.  He  knew  that 
their  case  was  worse  in  other  coun- 
tries, and  he  determined  to  visit  the 
continent  of  Europe.  In  this  work 
he  spent  twelve  years.  Between 
1775  and  1787  he  went  four  times  to 
Germany,  five  times  to  Holland, 
twice  to  Italy,  besides  visiting  Spain,  ^ 
Portugal,  Turkey,  and  the  north  of 
Europe.  He  often  travelled  night 
and  day,  visiting  all  the  principal 
hospitals  and  prisons.  He  did  not 
regard  expense  or  danger,  for  his 
whole  soul  was  taken  up  with  the 
desire  to  do  good.  At  Valladolid,  in 
Spain,  he  became  a  prisoner  him- 
self, for  a  month,  in  order  to  know 
the  real  truth.  And  when  he  re- 
turned home,  he  published  a  large 
work,  in  which  he  gave  an  account 
of  what  he  had  seen.     And  in  this  • 

14* 


162  LETTERS    TO    A 

way  he  did  more  than  was  ever  done 
before,  to  render  the  condition  of 
prisoners  less  miserable. 

But  his  benevolent  heart  was  not 
satisfied  with  this.  The  plague  was 
raging  in  many  parts  of  Europe. 
This  dreadful  complaint  is  worse 
than  the  yellow  fever,  and  often 
destroyed  thousands  in  a  few  weeks. 
Howard  resolved  to  learn  all  about 
it,  and  find  out  how  it  might  be 
cured.  He  had  studied  medicine  in 
his  youth,  and  he  travelled,  as  a  phy- 
sician, through  various  countries. 
In  1785  he  went  to  Marseilles.  Then 
ae  visited  the  hospitals  in  Italy  and 
Turkey,  exposing  himself  to  the 
greatest  dangers.  Whenever  it  was 
possible,  he  gave  relief.  In  1789 
iie  published  another  work,  giving 
an  account  of  the  plague.  The  same 
year  he  set  out  upon  another  journey 
to  the  eastern   countries,   but  was 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  163 

seized  with  a  fever  in  the  Crimea, 
and  died  in  1790. 

Now,  is  not  this  a  noble  example  ? 
How  much  more  does  Howard  de- 
serve the  name  of  a  great  man  than 
Alexander,  Cesar,  or  Bonaparte!  I 
wish  you  to  think  of  these  things, 
and  earnestly  to  pray  that  you  may 
be  disposed  to  imitate  such  a  course 
of  life. 

Your  aifectionate  brother, 

James. 


164  LETTERS   TO   A 

LETTER  XX. 

SECRET    PRAYER. 

My  dear  brother, — The  STibject 
about  which  I  intend  now  to  address 
you  is  so  important,  tiiat  I  might 
write  many  letters  upon  it.  It  is 
that  of  secret  prayer.  I  trust  that 
you  suffer  no  day  to  pass,  in  which 
you  do  not  pray  to  God  in  some 
secret  place. 

We  are  nowhere  taught  in  the 
Bible  how  often  we  ought  to  pray. 
It  is  indeed  said  that  we  must  pray 
without  ceasing,  that  is,  that  we 
should  all  the  time  be  in  a  fit  state 
of  mind  for  prayer;  also  that  we 
should  habitually  observe  regular 
seasons  for  prayer,  and  besides,  that 
we  should  very  often  offer  uj>  pe- 
titions in  our  minds,  while  we  are 
about   our    common    cmploym^pt-s 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  165 

Almost  all  Christians  have  agreed 
that  it  is  proper  to  pray  to  God  every 
morning  and  every  evening.  There 
is  a  great  advantage  in  having  a  set 
time  for  secret  prayer.  You  have 
often  heard  it  said,  that  what  is  left  to 
he  done  at  any  time,  is  ccymmonly  done 
at  no  time.  This  is  true.  If  you  rise 
in  the  morning,  and  put  off  your  devo- 
tions until  you  feel  more  in  the  spirit 
for  them,  it  is  likely  that  you  will  be 
less  and  less  in  the  right  temper. 
When  you  become  hurried  with  your 
studies,  your  work,  or  your  play,  you 
will  be  less  disposed  to  pray  than 
when  you  first  arose.  Besides,  if  you 
have  a  fixed  hour  for  your  private 
devotions,  whenever  the  hour  comes, 
you  will  be  put  in  mind  of  your  duty. 
You  know  that  in  a  family  where  the 
meals  are  served  up  at  regular  hours, 
every  one  is  reminded  of  breakfast  or 
dinner  w^henever  the  hour  arrives. 
In  a  late  letter,  I  spoke  to  you  of 


166  LETTERS    TO    A 

the  importance  of  forming  proper 
habits.  Now  it  is  one  great  use  of 
having  a  stated  hour  for  prayer,  that 
you  thus  acquire  the  habit  of  going 
into  your  closet  for  devotion  at  a  cer- 
tain time.  I  remember  that  I  used 
to  have  a  particular  hour  for  taking  a 
walk  in  the  morning.  This  became 
quite  a  habit  with  me.  Whenever 
the  hour  came,  I  always  set  out  upon 
my  walk,  and  I  used  to  feel  quite 
unpleasantly  when  any  thing  hap- 
pened to  prevent  it.  So  it  will  be 
if  you  set  a  time  every  morning  and 
evening  for  being  alone  to  pray. 

It  is  good  also  to  have  a  particular 
place,  where  this  is  possible.  If  we 
go  into  a  room  where  we  have  always 
been  accustomed  to  play  and  be 
merry,  it  will  make  us  think  of  these 
things,  and  w^e  shall  be  cheerful.  If 
we  go  into  a  room  where  we  have 
seen  a  person  die,  it  will  make  us  very 
solemn.    What  is  the  reason  of  this'i' 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  167 

It  is  because  one  thing  brings  the 
other  into  our  mind.  It  is  called  by 
philosophers  the  association  of  ideas. 
On  this  account,  almost  every  one 
feels  solemn  on  going  into  a  house 
of  worship.  And  in  the  same  way, 
if  you  have  a  particular  place  where 
you  go  to  read  the  Scriptures  and 
pray,  you  will  feel  serious  whenevei 
j^ou  go  into  it.  If  it  is  only  a  par- 
ticular corner  of  your  chamber,  it 
will  answer  a  good  purpose. 

The  best  time  for  prayer  is  early 
in  the  morning.  As  soon  as  you 
have  washed  and  dressed  yourself, 
you  should  go  by  yourself  and  en 
gage  in  devotion.  At  this  hour  the 
mind  is  fresh  and  cheerful,  and  we 
should  give  the  best  hours  to  God 
You  are  then  free  from  interruptions, 
and  the  bustle  and  hurry  of  the  day 
have  not  yet  begun.  You  will  natu 
rally  be  led  to  think  of  the  goodness 
of  God  in  preserving  you  through  all 


168  LETTERS    TO    A. 

the  dangers  of  the  night,  and  it  will 
be  highly  proper  for  you  to  ask  his 
blessing  upon  the  whole  day. 

The  proper  time  for  eA'ening  prayer 
is  when  the  business  of  the  day  is 
generally  over.  But  you  must  not 
"fix  on  too  late  an  hour,  for  in  that 
case  you  will  often  be  heav)^  and 
drowsy,  and  will  hurry  through  the 
duty,  or  perform  it  in  a  careless  man- 
ner. Some  thoughtless  boys  put  off 
their  prayers  imtil  they  have  got  into 
bed,  and  then  they  pretend  to  repeat 
something  in  the  way  of  devotion. 
They  are  afraid  to  neglect  the  duty 
entirely,  but  they  go  about  it  in  so 
slothful  a  w^ay,  that  they  often  fall 
asleep  before  they  are  through  their 
prayers.  This  is  a  wicked  practice. 
It  is  a  temptation  by  w^hich  Satan 
leads  many  young  persons  to  leave 
off  secret  prayer  altogether.  At  pub- 
lic schools,  where  several  boys  lodge 
in  the  same  room,  they  are  often 


YOUNGER   BROTI^ER.  169 

tempted  to  this  neglect.  They  are 
ashamed  to  let  their  playmates  see 
that  they  serve  God;  and  this  is  a 
dreadful  sin.  In  such  a  case,  it  would 
be  a  good  plan  to  take  an  hour  before 
bed-time,  in  which  you  could  retire 
to  some  private  place. 

Remember  that  the  great  thing  in 
prayer  is  to  have  the  heart  right. 
The  words  which  you  utter  with 
your  lips  are  of  less  importance.  You 
might  say  over  the  best  prayer  that 
ever  was  written,  and  yet  if  your 
heart  was  not  in  it,  you  would  only 
be  mocking  God.  Praying  is  asking. 
It  is  asking  for  what  you  desire. 
Now  if  there  is  no  desire,  there  is  no 
prayer.  If  you  ask  God  for  things 
which  you  do  not  wish  to  receive, 
you  are  trifling  with  him,  and  this  is 
most  displeasing  to  him.  Remem- 
ber also  that  prayer  is  heard  only  for 
the  sake  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 
Therefore,  when  you  pray,  you  must 
15 


170  LETTERS   TO    A 

have  faith  in  him,  or.  your  prayers 
will  not  be  acceptable.  Whenever 
you  kneel  down  to  pray,  think  what 
a  solemn  thing  it  is  that  you  are  about 
to  do.  You  are  going  to  speak  to 
Almighty  God !  O,  my  dear  brother, 
think  of  this,  and  you  will  no  longer 
hurry  through  your  prayers,  as  if 
they  were  some  idle  tale.  Remem- 
ber the  old  saying,  which  is  most 
true :  Praying  will  make  us  leave  off 
sinning ^  or  sinning  rvill  mahe  us  leave 
off  praying. 

Your  affectionate  brother, 

James. 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  17. 


LETTER  XXI. 

THE    GREAT    CONCERN. 

My  dear  brother, — There  are  many 
things  to  which  it  is  right  for  you  to 
attend,  but  there  is  one  thing  which 
is  important  above  all  others.  It  is 
the  salvation  of  your  soul.  Learning 
is  good,  but  if  you  should  get  all  the 
learning  possible,  it  would  only  make 
you  miserable,  if  you  were  cast  into 
hell.  And  so  it  is  with  every  thing 
else.  If,  through  the  blessing  of 
God,  you  finally  get  to  heaven,  it 
will  be  infinitely  well  with  you,  even 
if  you  have  been  poor  and  despised, 
wretched  and  ignorant. 

You  know  I  do  not  wish  you  to 
neglect  your  learning,  but  I  am  very 
much  afraid  you  will  neglect  eternal 
things.     This  is  the  true  learning. 


172  LETTERS    TO    A 

this  is  eternal  life,  to  know  the  only 
true  God,  and  Jesus  Christ  whom  he 
nath  sent.  This  is  what  the  Bible 
calls  wisdom.  A  man  may  be  very 
learned  in  worldly  things  and  yet  be 
very  foolish.  What  can  be  more 
foolish  than  to  give  away  eternal  joys 
to  gain  a  few  years  of  pleasure? 
This  is  what  many  worldly-wise 
men  are  doing.  The  fear  of  the 
Lord  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom.  A 
child  who  is  taught  of  God  knows 
more  about  divine  things  than  So- 
crates did. 

I  am  afraid,  my  dear  brother,  that 
you  do  not  think  of  this  as  much  as 
you  should.  I  fear  that  you  push 
away  the  thought,  even  when  it 
comes  into  your  mind.  This  is  very 
dangerous.  You  may  thus  harden 
your  heart  till  it  becomes  altogether 
unfeeling.  When  you  turn  away 
your  thoughts  from  religion,  you  are 
turning  away  from  God  and  from 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  173 

Christ.  If  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ 
were  to  come  into  the  house  where 
you  Kve,  and  show  himself  to  you, 
just  as  he  did  to  his  disciples  at  the 
sea  of  Tiberias,  (John  xxi.J  and  say 
to  you,  Follow  thou  me,  what  would 
you  do? 

Perhaps  5^ou  would  say,  "I  cannot 
follow  Christ  now,  because  I  am  too 
young."  Many  boys  say  so  in  their 
hearts.  Christ  says  to  them,  Follow 
me,  just  as  really  as  if  he  were  to 
come  into  your  school-room,  and  take 
you  by  the  hand,  and  utter  these 
words.  Perhaps  you  would  say,  "I 
cannot  follow  Christ  now,  because 
the  boys  would  laugh  at  me."  Ah, 
how  wicked,  how  ungrateful  is  this ! 
The  wicked  may  indeed  laugh  at 
you  if  you  follow  Jesus.  So  they 
laughed  at  the  disciples  in  old  times. 
Do  you  think  that  the  early  Chris- 
tians were  free  from  ridicule?  Not 
15* 


174  LETTERS   TO   A 

at  all.  They  were  mocked  and 
scorned  wherever  they  went;  and 
not  merely  mocked  and  scorned, 
they  were  pursued,  imprisoned,  and 
put  to  death.  You  cannot  follow 
Christ  unless  you  are  willing  to  suf- 
fer for  his  sake.  Are  you  afraid  of 
the  laughter  of  silly  boys  and  wicked 
men?  Think  of  the  blessed  Re- 
deemer. He  was  not  afraid  of  this, 
but  underwent  it,  and  a  thousand 
times  more,  to  save  sinners.  People 
laughed  at  him.  They  ridiculed  him 
as  the  carjp enter'' s  son.  They  said  he 
was  a  Samaritan,  which  was  a  name 
of  reproach  among  the  Jews.  They 
said  he  was  mad.  They  charged 
him  with  having  a  devil  Even 
when  he  was  working  miracles,  tlieij 
laughed  him  to  scorn.  Yes,  and 
when  he  was  hanging  on  the  cross, 
in  an  agony,  at  the  point  of  death, 
they  wagged  their  heads  at  him,  and 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  175 

made  sport  of  his  blood  and  suffering. 
Think  of  this.  This  is  what  Jesus 
has  done  for  us.  And  now  he  says, 
Follow  me.  He  seems  to  show  you 
his  pierced  hands  and  feet,  and  to 
sa)^,  ''My  child,  I  have  borne  all  this 
for  sinners,  and  now  all  I  ask  is,  that 
you  should  follow  me." 

It  is  your  duty,  my  dear  brother, 
to  give  your  heart  to  God  now;  to 
believe  now.  There  is  no  good  rea- 
son for  waiting.  All  the  reasons 
which  come  into  your  mind  to  make 
you  delay,  are  wicked,  selfish,  rebel- 
lious excuses.  Now  is  the  accepted 
time.  To-morrow  it  will  be  as  hard 
to  believe  in  Christ  as  it  is  to-day ; 
perhaps  much  harder,  because,  as  I 
said,  the  heart  becomes  insensible 
when  persons  continue  to  resist  the 
Holy  Spirit. 

I  pray  that  God  would  send  his 
Holy  Spirit  down  from  heaven,  to 


176  LETTERS    TO   A 

create  a  clean  heart  in  you,  and  to 
renew  you.  Your  carnal  heart  is 
enmity  against  God,  and  this  is  the 
reason  why  it  is  not  subject  to  the 
law  of  God.  Carnal  hearts  cannot 
be  subject  to  the  law.  And  though 
Christ  is  every  day  inviting  you,  yet 
you  will  not  come  unto  him,  that 
you  may  have  life.  If  you  grow  up 
in  this  state  of  blindness  and  impeni- 
tence, there  is  reason  to  fear  that  you 
will  become  so  much  the  servant  of 
sin,  that  the  evil  one  will  lead  you 
into  some  open  crime.  There  is  a 
blessed  hope  of  everlasting  life  given 
to  true  believers,  and  this  is  what  I 
wish  you  to  enjoy.  Perhaps  you 
may  not  live  to  be  a  man.  Death 
sometimes  approaches  very  suddenly. 
You  saw  the  grave  of  a  little  boy  not 
long  ago.  He  was  as  healthy,  a  few 
weeks  before  his  death,  as  you  now 
are.    He  had  no  thought  that  he  was 


YOUNGER    BROTHER.  177 

about  to  die,  and  now  he  is  in  eter- 
nity! 

Come  now,  my  dear  brother,  and 
join  with  me  and  your  Christian 
friends  in  seeking  the  Lord  and  call- 
ing upon  him.  ''Seek  the  Lord 
while  he  may  be  found,  call  upon 
him  while  he  is  near."  Make  this 
the  chief  business  of  every  day,  to 
please  God.  When  you  rise  in  the 
morning,  let  your  first  thought  be 
that  you  have  a  soul  to  save.  All 
the  day  long,  let  the  salvation  of 
your  soul  be  your  principal  concern. 
Other  things  may  wait,  without  any 
danger.  Your  plays  and  recreations 
may  wait;  for  if  you  live,  you  can 
attend  to  them  as  well  hereafter. 
Your  studies  may  wait,  for  a  few 
days  lost  may  be  regained  by  dili- 
gence. But  the  souVs  concerns  can- 
not wait.  While  you  are  waiting, 
death  is  coming.  Death  is  nearer  to 
you  than  when  you  began  to  read 


178  LETTERS    TO    A 

this  letter.  While  you  are  putting 
off  religion  until  another  day,  you 
are  so  much  nearer  to  the  day  of 
judgment.  You  are  loitering  and 
lingering;  but  time  does  not  linger. 
And  before  the  day  comes  on  which 
you  mean  to  begin  to  seek  the  liord's 
face,  your  soul  may  be  tormented. 
O,  my  dear  brother,  attend  speedily 
to  these  warnings.  All  will  be  well 
with  you  as  soon  as  you  are  per- 
suaded to  follow  Christ.  Make  choice 
of  him — look  to  him — come  to  him — 
receive  him — believe  on  him — and 
you  will  at  once  have  the  privilege 
of  being  one  of  the  sons  of  God.* 

Go  to  some  quiet,  private  place, 
and  tell  the  Lord  in  prayer,  how 
great  a  sinner  you  have  been,  and 
mourn  over  your  sin,  and  cry,  "  God 
be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner!"      For 


*Isa.  xlv.  22.   John  i.  12;  iii.  16.  18.  36*   Acta 
xvi.  31.     Mact.  xi.  28.    John  vi.  35. 


YOUNGER   BROTHER.  179 

"if  tliou  shalt  seek  the  Lord  thy 
God,  thou  shalt  find  him;  if  thou 
seek  him  with  all  thy  heart,  and  with 
all  thy  soul."  Deut.  iv.  29.  May 
God  abundantly  bless  you! 
Your  affectionate  brother, 

James 


THE   END. 


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